A Light that Endures
by Aerus
Summary: "Of old days of the Mark the tale of Lion of Rohan and his Lady fierce and brave is remembered and beloved by Eorlingas beyond any other..." This is a story of being lost and found, and discovering your redemption. Here is a Light that Endures.
1. Prologue

**Title:** A Light That Endures

**Genre: **Romance/Adventure/Angst

**Rating: **M

**Pairing: **Éomer/Lothíriel

**Disclaimer: **The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. Aside from some original characters, I own nothing. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.

**Summary: **_Of old days of the Mark the tale of Lion of Rohan and his Lady fierce and brave is remembered and beloved by Eorlingas beyond any other... _This is a story of being lost and found, and discovering your redemption. Here is a Light that Endures.

**Author's Note:** And here comes the first installment of _A Light that Endures! _**  
**

This one has been brewing in my mind for a while now, and I've been working on this piece whenever I've needed a break from _House of Sun. _I'm not quite finished yet, though I have the whole storyline sketched, so it's mostly just a matter of writing it now. I'm having a bit of difficulty with _Wild Hearts _but I figured out I momentarily break my radio silence with this prologue.

Truthfully speaking this was actually two separate stories in the beginning. When I was thinking over them I realised character build and personalities of Éomer and Lothíriel were so similar in the two pieces (possibly as a result to thinking of two stories at the same time) that they could even take place in the same universe. As a result I decided to put together these two, and they are more or less "how Lothíriel and Éomer met each other... and what happened next". "What happened next" turned out far too much to be covered in just one part and eventually a split was needed... but the consequences of events in this story were not only unexpected but of such significance that a fourth sequence to tie in three other parts was needed. Though I'm not done writing this piece yet I can say it's likely going to be a long one, perhaps even longer than _House of Sun _if I get very excited.

The story will follow canon timeline up until the year 3021 of Third Age, from where I will leave on an AU path, but at the beginning of the story that should not matter, and the first part, I imagine, can be read as it is. As a word of warning it must be said that some dark themes will be discussed later on, with possible character death(s) and violence. This piece is rated M for a reason, though that reason might not become clear quite so quickly.

The good thing about fanfiction is that in it the romantic heart has freedom to imagine things that in reality would probably seem impossible or at least very unlikely. I do not expect to take this as Truth on how things work. Though it is not relevant for the Part 1 of the story, there are going to be some darker themes later, and I fully understand if you'll feel contradictory about them. But again, this is a work of fanfiction and a work of dream. This is a place, I think, where we can believe for a little while that true love doth conquer all.

* * *

_Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured._

_- Emily Dickinson_

* * *

_"Of Ednew and Éadig: The History of the Later Days of the House of Eorl". Excerpt by Wigmund, the King's scribe in Edoras, on the year 175 Fourth Age._

_"... But of those old days of the Mark, the days after Great War of the Ring, one tale is remembered and beloved by Eorlingas beyond any other. That is the tale of Lion of Rohan and his Lady fierce and brave; 'tis a story of his long journey south, how he was lost, and how she found him again. Here is their history, as it was penned down by their granddaughter Elsunn the Wise. Reader, take this tale, and slowly read..." _

* * *

**Prologue**

_April 65 Fourth Age, Edoras_

The bow rested on a wooden stand, looking a lot like it was preserved there as a relic.

Well, perhaps it wasn't so wrong to call it a relic. It certainly did bear much significance in the eyes of the one who had carried it – and, more importantly, it had been there to get her through danger and war. Not to mention it wasn't the usual Gondorian or Rohirric bow: it was Elven-made.

Prince Legolas himself had made this bow, and Princess Elsunn had heard it had been made into the likeness of the Elf's own bow of the Galadhrim which Lady Galadriel had once given him (though Grandmother would tell you it was smaller). But this one was made of the light wood from Ithilien and as far as Elsunn could tell, the string was of Legolas' own hair. He had given it to Grandmother many years ago as a betrothal present... perhaps some Elven foresight had come to him, and he had known she'd need it. Be it as may, it was a gift a King could have carried with pride.

It was a fine weapon, and some may even have said it's value was wasted by sitting on this stand. But then, Grandmother would never have allowed anyone to touch it. The bow had been there with her during the most important journey of her life. Sometimes Elsunn wondered if the blessing of Elven hands had contributed to that great adventure... and brought back not only Grandmother, but also that which she had sought.

It was one story Eorlingas loved to hear, for a journey so fantastic sounded like something out of legends. But Elsunn had only ever heard her grandparents telling bits and pieces of it. Though it was a tale beloved by their people, for them it all was more than just a story... and Grandfather in particular had preferred not to speak much of it with others than his wife.

"What are you thinking of, my dear?" asked Grandmother, distracting Elsunn from her thoughts. She looked up from the bow and to the aged face of her dear old Grandmother.

It was probably because of her Númenorean and Elvish blood that Grandmother looked the way she did. Well, she wasn't obviously young anymore, but Grandfather at that age had seemed somehow older than she did now. Though years had turned her long hair white, she could have passed as someone ten years younger. Dressed in that dark blue shade she had worn since the day Grandfather had died, she was quite obviously the Queen. Even though she was a widow now and a new king ruled in Meduseld, it was still considered that the title of the Lady of the Mark would be hers as long as she lived. After all, she existed in that place between a legend and reality where normal rules did not apply; she belonged to Rohan and Rohan belonged to her, for she was the woman men called Lioness.

"I was just looking at your bow, Grandmother. I thought of all the wonderful adventures you had bearing it", Elsunn said and gave a smile to the old woman.

"Adventures they certainly were", said Grandmother softly, "but they did not feel too wonderful at the time. But then, that is probably true for all great journeys."

"I'd like to hear about it some time. The whole story, I mean. You speak of it so rarely", Elsunn said carefully.

A small smile, the kind that she couldn't quite read, appeared on Grandmother's face. The old Queen took Elsunn by hand then and lead her to two chairs by the window; the light of early afternoon flooded in and made Grandmother's hair shine.

"It was an experience very profound and personal", she began slowly, "and some of the things that happened felt to me like they were something that only belonged to your Grandfather and myself. And he... to him it was even more difficult. He was a man who did not like showing weakness, so to him speaking of a time when he was on his weakest point was not comfortable."

Elsunn thought of that for a moment. It was hard to believe Grandfather had ever been weak. After all, in the memory of Eorlingas he was remembered one of the greatest kings to ever have ruled the Mark... a true lion among men. She too remembered him as a great man, and though he had been very old when he had fallen into his last sleep with his family around him, he had never seemed anything less to her than the legendary king the songs spoke of.

"But he did tell Father of it, did'n't he?" asked Elsunn.

"He did, as far as I know. Your father is one of the few people who live today and know his side of the story... I understand he also shared it with Holdwine Meriadoc before he died", Grandmother confirmed. "But your father is one of the few people who know what it meant to us – how we fought, and how difficult it was to find redemption."

Elsunn frowned. All the stories she had heard had always insisted it had been a great adventure... but perhaps it was more like one of those very old legends from the mists of time, the kind where beauty and love and grief mingled. Perhaps Grandfather had not lost his hand on a quest to win a Silmaril. But that was not to say he had not lost something on the way.

"I don't know if our story is as great as some would make it, but... to us it meant something I can never put in words. Your grandfather did maintain that he had ventured into the shadow and in a way he did die, and that I brought him back to life. He believed so until his dying day", Grandmother said softly, staring out of the window now. On her brow, great sorrow lay; only then did Elsunn understand how deeply she still grieved for her late husband. And she always would, until a day came that her life came to an end at last and she'd join her beloved Lion beyond the circles of the world.

That was why she would not return to Gondor, though that was the land of her birth. No, she had chosen to stay here, near her children and children's children... and near _him, _though he was gone. Then again, Elsunn did not know if the Rohirrim would even have let their old Queen leave. In her lived the old glorious days, and the memory of the Blessed King, and she was such a central figure not only in the lives of her children and her children's children but also in all of Edoras and Rohan. Such was the life for a living legend.

Perhaps the things she and Grandfather had experienced were something to forge a bond between the two of them... the kind of bond that would not be broken by death.

She looked at Elsunn then and though the memory of Grandfather was there in her eyes, beloved and dearly missed, she did smile.

She continued: "Though it is a troubled story, there is also light there. Light that endures, I think. I sometimes believe I only loved your Grandfather so much because as I saw him on his most glorious, I also saw him at his weakest. I saw the both sides of him."

"But to give you the full story, and for you to understand why I did so fight for him, you must first hear why I fell in love with him. That is why we need to start from the very beginning... that is, the night I first met him in the woods of Ithilien. Take a comfortable seat, sweetheart, for it is going to be a long, long story."

* * *

**A/N: **Inspiration for the prologue: Thomas Bergersen - Heart


	2. Part 1: Lions

**Part 1: Lions**

_But once in a while the odd thing happens,  
Once in a while the dream comes true,  
And the whole pattern of life is altered,  
Once in a while the moon turns blue. _

_- Julia Green_

* * *

"All warfare is based on deception." - Eldacar, King of Gondor, in "Art of War"

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_April 3019 Third Age. Somewhere in the woods of Ithilien._

"I must have been mad when I agreed to do this", said Prince Amrothos for what had to be at least the fifth time ever since they had left Minas Tirith. However, his words did not have too much of an impression on his younger sister. She let out a snort and shifted in her saddle, wishing they could have reached the camp already.

"Nonsense, brother. You were just as eager as myself to leave the city. I seem to recall that you were equally anxious for being left behind when the others rode for Morannon", Princess Lothíriel answered patiently.

"Yes, but I at least had Father's leave to be in Minas Tirith on the first place. You were never supposed to come along when our troops left to fight in war", Amrothos complained.

"And he must have been out of his mind when he thought I'd actually consent to staying back and twiddling my thumbs. I've been thrice wronged already, and I will not comply this time either", she informed him.

"Well, Father had sound logic, you have to admit that. Had Minas Tirith fallen, the duty of defending Dol Amroth would have been yours. He said himself he thought you'd have been of more use there", Amrothos pointed out.

"Brother, if Minas Tirith had fallen, there wouldn't have been much to defend. And you know precisely how frustrating it is to be left behind – you've been whining about it ever since the host left for the Black Gate. So don't moralise me, Amrothos", Lothíriel answered calmly.

He grumbled something half-audibly, and for a while the two siblings were left to riding in silence.

It had been a tumultuous time in the kingdom of Gondor. The darkening years had finally escalated into a battle of life and death and the signs of war were yet evident in the fields of Pelennor and in the White City itself. Minas Tirith had seen things great and terrible, but also the flicker of light: the ride of the Rohirrim and hope and friendship rekindled, and there was even talk of Isildur's Heir returning to claim the throne... but only few days before that fragile hope had been put to test yet again as the hosts of the West had ridden to the Black Gate of the Land of Shadow.

Father's face had been grave and dark when he had said goodbye to two of his youngest children. Elphir and Erchirion had gone with him; somehow, Erchirion had been able to smile even. Amrothos and Lothíriel had demanded to come along, but in this thing Father had been absolutely unmoving. So, after holding his daughter and son for one last time he had left, and the princess had feared he'd not return.

But the victory that had seemed so impossible had been achieved, and Middle-earth was at last free of the Dark Lord. The future was ahead and after so many years of fear and foreboding it had hope and light.

Now Lothíriel and Amrothos were making their way to the Fields of Cormallen where the Lords of West had their camp. With them rode others from Minas Tirith who had been invited to join the party. As soon as word had come that the war was won and their family was safe, the two had made a single-minded decision: they'd ride for Cormallen to see their father and brothers. Father would probably not be too delighted, but on the other hand he knew his two youngest children were capable of taking care of themselves and each other. Amrothos, however, seemed to currently think this disobedience would anger Father more than their mischief usually did.

"You know, none of this promises too good for you when we get back to Minas Tirith", he commented now. Being the erratic thing he was, Amrothos appeared to have forgotten about his concern for Father's reaction for the moment.

"Whatever do you mean, brother?" Lothíriel asked nonchalantly.

"Well, it's quite obvious. All the nobility in the land is probably already on their way to the city. They'll want to see Isildur's Heir, and there will be great feasts and celebrations", Amrothos answered, shifting in the saddle and wearing a face that implied he at least looked forward to all that was to come.

"And? How is that a concern of mine?" she wondered. Well, she'd probably attend to few of inevitable feasts, but it was more out of wanting to be a part, however small, of all these great things of late – or at least be able to observe the great celebrations. They were not something likely to recur any time soon.

"You'll have to put aside your bow and your breeches. Try and appear like a real lady, that sort of thing. But the court will be bursting with noblewomen who actually handle it better than you do... and then there's the matter of unmarried kings..." he said, enjoying himself a bit too much for her tastes.

"You mean I should like to try and catch the eyes of those kings?" Lothíriel snorted. "Amrothos, are you insane?"

"Although even I have sometimes hard time believing it, you _are_ a princess, sister", Amrothos pointed out. "And you know Aunt would want it. I'm not sure about that Isildur's Heir – he's so old and all – but the King of the horselords..."

"What if I like old men?" Lothíriel chortled. She briefly considered pushing her brother from the saddle for starting such an inane topic. "What about the Rohirric King?"

"He's a pretty young man. Around Erchirion's age, I think. I'm no authority on that but I heard some kitchen maids giggling and whispering about him – they seem to think he's quite handsome", he answered and grinned at her.

"Brother, I don't think I ever asked you to find me a husband. And what do I care about this King's handsomeness? A man can be fair to look upon yet still have but air where his brain should be", Lothíriel said unaffectedly. "I don't want to be a queen anyway. Let someone else have the man. I'm sure there'll be plenty of enthusiastic candidates."

"I think you'd like him. They say he's a temperamental fellow, and I rather agree with that observation. I was present when he threatened to throw a healer out of window when they tried to tell him leave his sister's bedside", said her brother. Lothíriel snorted.

"So you think I sympathise with throwing people out of windows? Thank you, brother", she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Don't act all sweet and innocent, sister. Throwing me out of window is hardly the worst thing you've threatened to do when you've been angry", Amrothos grinned. "See? You and the King of Rohan are practically made for each other!"

"Amrothos, if I need your opinions or your help in marital matters, I'll ask for it", Lothíriel groaned. Her brother could truly be one of the most annoying oafs sometimes.

"Still, you can rest assured there will be so many celebrations before all is said and done", he commented, "and I recommend you to be prepared for the possibility that Father has had the same idea about the Rohirric King."

The princess quickly looked at her brother, concern filling her heart. She very nearly fell from the saddle.

"What? Does he actually think it would be a good idea? Has he said something to you?" she demanded.

"No, he hasn't. But who knows what ideas he has gotten in the middle of all those lords about him?" Amrothos said and shrugged. But seeing her face, he gave her a comforting smile. "Don't worry, sister. Father would not make deals like that without your consent."

"He better not, or there will be more consequences than just people thrown out of windows", Lothíriel muttered.

"You're positively violent", Amrothos sniggered, but she glared at him.

"That's easy for you to say. You haven't spent years fearing and wondering to which lord Uncle will sell you and your womb", she said darkly, holding tighter to her reins then. This was one matter where her brothers had never quite understood her.

His expression became serious, however. Amrothos at least understood it a bit better than Elphir and Erchirion.

"Lothíriel, I-" he started, but she lifted a hand to interrupt him. This was not something she felt comfortable talking about.

"It's all right", she muttered and looked away.

They rode on for a while in silence, both in the middle of their thoughts. The company continued forward; the sun was setting and all were eager to reach their destination. Though the war had ended, there were still survivors from Mordor lurking in these parts. Not that either of the two siblings were really scared of orcs: Amrothos had his sword and Lothíriel carried a bow, and deep down the princess decided she'd have rather liked some action. That at least would have taken her mind off of unmarried kings and the fear that despite all Father _had _gotten ideas in his head about those kings.

After a while, she turned to look at her brother again, and started: "Amrothos, what do you think-"

However, Lothíriel never got the chance to finish that sentence, for all of a sudden there were sounds of alarm from ahead where the escort was making towards the camp of the lords of the west. And then, fell voices of orcs and the clash of steel as a battle broke out.

The two children of Imrahil moved as if on one thought. Any other older brother might have demanded to go first, but Amrothos made way for his sister: she drew her bow and charged, and he came just after her a sword in hand.

"_Mithrellas!" _

And so Lothíriel rode, calling the name of her ancestress, and Amrothos rode just after her; she could see the battle ahead but felt no fear at the sight of this surviving band of orcs. Her bow sang as she rode and each arrow found its target with precision she had practised ever since she had been strong enough to draw the string of her bow. And what enemy she could not slay met death by Amrothos' sword, until the two of them were deep in the thickness of battle, and she lost sight of him...

But then there was a noise of hooves thundering, and men crying: _"Eorlingas!"_

Out of the shadows of the evening they came, as if riding out of a song of yore. Tall and fair-haired, riding horses of unmatched in strength and speed and looking just as fierce as tales had it, a band of Rohirric riders was now charging into the scene of the battle. On the front rode their leader, a fearsome dark-eyed man armed with tall spear and gazing ahead with cool concentration of a seasoned warrior. The white horse-tail of his helmet flew in the wind as he came riding, and for a moment his concentration was broken: when he saw her. For the brief instance their eyes locked and she thought he looked surprised, even disbelieving.

However, Lothíriel had no time for staring at this man, impressive as he might be. She took down one more orc and then turned her steed to make way for the charging riders, lest she be on their way and was trampled to ground.

It did not take long for the newly arrived Rohirrim to finish what was left of orcs by then. To them, this battle probably counted as nothing more than a light practice. Lothíriel gathered the arrows she had shot and cast a look about to seek Amrothos, and she quickly spotted him aiding with one injured man.

She had just returned her arrows in her quiver when the man with the horse-tail helmet arrived. Riding a great grey stallion, and being a man of considerable size, he was quite a sight... and so was the blazing anger in his eyes.

"You!" he snapped, staring at Lothíriel with such intensity that indeed she must be the target of this anger, though she didn't know why.

"Me?" she shot back, lifting her eyebrows. Oh, she wouldn't have some raucous brawler from North yell at her like this!

"What do you think you were doing?" he demanded to know, and judging by his tone one could have thought she had just tried to challenge a mûmak into a single battle.

"Oh, I was trying to grow myself a pair of wings and flutter away to West! What did it look like, you ruffian?" she answered loudly, glaring at him. This man was in no position at all to question her, though he certainly was under such impression. Were all Rohirrim so rude?

"I did not know Gondor had so emptied her lands that now weapons are forced on even women! What precisely had you thinking it would be all right to charge ahead like that?" he growled.

But now Lothíriel was outraged too. Who did this man think he was?!

"Excuse me! I was _not _forced to take up arms! I took them because I wanted, and it is no damned business of yours if I indeed do carry a bow! What kind of a moron are you to think you have any right to tell me what to do? Who do you think you are?" she yelled at him, her voice turning nearly into a screech.

That seemed to surprise him, but his astonishment only lasted for a moment. Again his face turned into a fierce look that might have unsettled her in some other situation. That was, if Lothíriel herself had not been feeling so angry.

"Who do I think- oh, my dear rascal, you can believe I have every right to question insane woodland bandits who dash into a battle acting like it was child's play!" he snapped at her.

"I don't need you pampering me, you git! I am quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much, and I can assure you my father will hear about this!" she informed him icily.

That only seemed to fuel his fury, and he looked like he was about to speak up again and patronise her some more, but it was then that Lothíriel saw the one last orc lurking in the shadows behind his horse. She didn't know if the creature was trying to get to this arrogant man – good riddance that would have been, really – or just to sneak away. Nevertheless, she pulled out one more arrow, took aim and shot the orc. For split second before the arrow had sprung from her bow there was a look on the Rohir's face like he thought she had just decided to kill him on the spot. But then her arrow hit the orc and the rider sharply turned to see the death groan of that creature. Somehow his frown assumed a bemused look.

"Well, this insane woodland bandit may just very well have saved your life, though I must say that was a waste of a good arrow! I hope you fall off your horse!" Lothíriel announced as a parting comment and turned around, looking for her horse with her eyes.

"Wait!" she heard the man yelling after her but she didn't pay any attention to him. He called again, more forcibly this time: "I order you to stop!"

"And I order you to shut your big mouth before I put an arrow through it!" she snapped over her shoulder.

Now the man looked abashed though furious, and for a moment she was sure he'd ride her to the ground, but then one of the other riders approached him, talking fast in that strange language of theirs. This distracted the rude man long enough for Lothíriel to slip away from the scene. Oh, she'd so tell Father about this! Perhaps she could ask him to pull some strings and have the King of Rohan send this annoying fellow packing.

But as she was making her way up towards the front guard, Amrothos arrived riding. His wide-eyed expression immediately alarmed her that he had seen what had just taken place between her and the overbearing Rohir.

"What? Did you come to preach to me about manners?" she asked, her annoyance lifting its head anew. "I swear, if you too are going to-"

"It's not that", he interrupted her, his voice faint. "Do you know who you just screamed at and threatened to kill?"

"Who cares? He was probably just some churl from North who thinks he can order me around just because he's big and has a loud voice", Lothíriel said nonchalantly.

A pained little smile came to Amrothos' face, and he gave her that look – the one her brothers always wore when they thought she was insane.

"Oh, you should care, very much actually. It was the King of Rohan you were shrieking at, sister."

* * *

It took almost all the way to the camp on the Fields of Cormallen for Lothíriel to regain her composure and her ability to talk. Luckily the way was not too long and as they travelled with front guard there was no chance of running into the King's Company again. Apparently they had stayed behind to scout the area and look to the disposal of bodies of the orcs.

When Amrothos had first announced the identity of the man Lothíriel had argued with, she had burst in laughter. She had thought he was joking. But the expression on his face remained dead serious, and at last it sunk in: she had horribly insulted the King of Rohan, the leader of the horse-lords... the very people all Gondorians effectively owed their lives.

As soon as that realisation filled her Lothíriel had lost her ability to speak, and she had ridden all the way to the camp in silence. Her brother appeared to understand she was in no mood for conversation, not yet at least. So he didn't speak either, but rode beside her in silence.

"All right, brother", she said at last, though her voice was still kind of wavering, "There is only one thing I know for sure and that is I can't meet that man again."

He looked sharply at her, lifting his eyebrows.

"Lothíriel, you know that's not an alternative. The King of Rohan is a friend of our father, and we're both members of high nobility. There's no way you can avoid meeting him, especially with all the celebrations ahead", he pointed out.

"But I have to! I can't meet him again, not right away at least! You said it yourself – he's friends with Father, and he would be so offended if he knew who I was! I can't ruin their friendship like that. And Father would be so disappointed with me if he heard, and he'd probably send me back to Dol Amroth in shackles!" Lothíriel exclaimed, her voice panicked.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Amrothos asked. "Once Father hears you're here there's no way you can hide from the Rohirric King. He'll insist you meet the man."

"Well, maybe he doesn't have to know I'm here – or make the obvious connection. I mean, if he didn't hear I'm here and didn't meet me. It was getting dark, so maybe he didn't get too good look on my face? Maybe all we need to do is for me to lay low for now, and get back to Minas Tirith and pretend I never left the city! By the time they come back he'll have forgotten about me!" Lothíriel said heatedly.

"We?" echoed her brother. "What do you mean, we?"

"Of course it's 'we'!" she told him in exasperation. "I need you to seek out the King when he returns to the camp and somehow lead him into thinking I'm just some crazy peasant or something like that. Otherwise he's bound to mention me to Father somehow, and you know what will happen then."

"You mean I should lie to Éomer King?" Amrothos asked, his eyes widening. The idea seemed to genuinely scare him.

"Yes! I know it's not pleasant, but we just need to distract him for the moment. He'll forget about it soon enough, I'm sure of it", she insisted. They were starting to get closer to the camp now, and she desperately needed her brother to comply.

"Sister, you did call him a moron and a git. I'm not sure he's going to forget about it so soon", he said doubtfully.

"Well, once we get back to Minas Tirith I'm going to act all princess-like, the way Aunt always insists I should, and this King will probably think I just happen to have this bloodthirsty, foul-mouthed twin roaming the woods of Ithilien", Lothíriel tried. She gripped her reins in her hands so tight they might have broken.

"That's not going to work", Amrothos pointed out. He sounded sceptical as ever.

"Of course not if you don't help me out!" she said in frustration. "Please, Amrothos! You're the only one who can help me!"

He groaned and looked like he'd have liked to say no. But like always before, ever since they had been small children, he couldn't refuse her.

"All right, all right. What do you need me to do?" he asked, his voice that of someone completely beaten.

"Fantastic! Brother, you are the best!" she squealed and gave him a beaming grin. "Now, this is how we'll do this..."

* * *

Night had already fallen when Éomer King of the Mark returned to the camp of the Host of the West. He and his men had scouted the woods for more orcs but none were found, and eventually he had decided they'd head back. Though war against Sauron was won and future held a promise of peace, there were still surviving bands of orcs roaming these lands. For the young king this was an agreeable thing, for he was finding it difficult to just sit down and enjoy the calm.

His life had mostly consisted of struggle and strife, and past few years it had only intensified. Indeed, war _was _the normal state of things for him and he had hard time remembering more peaceful times. And he was so angry, for being left with the burden of the throne and not knowing what he should do, and his cousin and uncle dying, and all the others leaving him and Éowyn alone... but now the war had ended and he had no idea of how to adjust to a peace.

This evening had been everything but calm though, and when he rode with his men into the camp he was still thinking of the peculiar encounter back in the woods. A part of him had hard time believing it had even happened – he'd never have expected such conduct and language from a Gondorian woman – but the arrow she had left behind was the proof she had not been just some apparition. The way that strange rude woman had disappeared certainly made him feel like she had not been real.

Then again, it was most likely that she had made her way here, into this camp... perhaps he'd even encounter again. Éomer certainly wished he would, for he wasn't quite done with her. For one, he had to find out who she was and how she had such gall as to verbally attack the King of Rohan.

He pushed aside these thoughts as he dismounted and his esquire took away Firefoot. Prince Elphir approached him, and beside the man came Prince Amrothos. The young king had spotted Imrahil's youngest son in the escort but he had been too preoccupied to speak with him.

"Sire", greeted Elphir with a smile. Of Imrahil's sons he resembled the man most, though for the majority of time he was not as relaxed as the ruling Prince himself. He had inherited the height and grey eyes of the descendants of Westernesse, which Amrothos had too, though he wasn't quite as tall. The youngest of the three had an easy smile and carefree countenance, which was likely the result of being youngest of three princes. Éomer knew these two men had a sister and had even heard she was in Minas Tirith, but he had yet to meet her.

"My lords", answered the young King, nodding towards the two.

"The orcs have been taken care of? My brother already told me of the fight in the woods", Elphir said, falling to the side of the young king. These tall men of Dol Amroth were some of the few people who could keep up with his long stride.

"Aye. There were none left in the woods as far as we could see –not at least this close to the camp. I'm quite certain every nook and cranny in these parts is swarming with them, though... too many of them survived from Morannon", Éomer answered. _All the more reason for insane young women to stay away from this place. _

"If you keep hunting them with your men as diligently as my brother here reports, my lord, I fear there is a good chance you shall end up taking down them all single-handedly!" said Prince Amrothos and grinned, though Éomer thought he saw something forced about the expression. Before he could dwell on that, Elphir spoke again.

"Nonsense, Amrothos. You didn't see the lot of them at Morannon, and though Éomer King and his men have done most admirable job in protecting the camp and disposing of orcs, I have a feeling it will be years still before we can say they're no threat anymore", said the older Prince quite rightly.

"I didn't see them at Morannon because Father wouldn't let me come along", Amrothos muttered sourly. But then his expression sobered and he looked at his brother again, Speaking of him, Father had some business with you, brother. And I'd like to exchange couple of words with Éomer King."

"Of course", Elphir answered. He nodded at the Rohir and went along, leaving the two men alone. Éothain had fallen behind too to give them a bit of privacy. Idly Éomer thought his captain was taking this king business far more clear-headedness than anyone in his éored.

"I didn't yet have a chance of greeting you properly, my lord, or thanking you for appearing when you did. I'm not sure we were in any grave danger, but Rohirric war-cries are something I've learned to appreciate", Amrothos said then. This time there was nothing forced about his voice or expression, and the King thought perhaps he had been mistaken.

"It was my pleasure. In fact, I was in the need of a battle", he commented nonchalantly.

"In the need of a battle? Even now after the war?" Amrothos wondered out loud. They were making their way slowly towards the lodgings of the King; Éomer had the mind of making himself more presentable before seeking out Aragorn.

"Even now", he confirmed quietly. "It is not so easy to settle down when one has known little else than war for a long time."

"Of course. I beg your pardon", said the prince quickly. He was only few years younger than Éomer himself, but sometimes that was easy to forget. Indeed, this carefree young man could not have grown up in a more different world.

"It is all right. This also means I have quite a few rough edges..." said the young king. Éowyn certainly had made sure he knew _that. _

"Well, I don't mind them, Sire", Amrothos said anyway and grinned again. Speaking of rough edges...

"Prince Amrothos, did you happen to see that young woman who charged in the woods along with the men?" asked Éomer then, hoping perhaps he might know who she had been.

"Yes, I did", answered the prince, and Éomer quickly looked at him.

"Do you know who she was? And... is it common in Gondor for women to bear arms?" he asked.

"To be honest, there are some men in our land who have armed both their sons and daughters. Living under the threat of the Enemy has had that kind of effect in some cases... even on some lords. But it's not really common though", Amrothos answered at length. "As for that woman, I can't tell for sure, as I didn't see her except from afar."

"You mean she could even be a noble lady?" Éomer asked in surprise. Though he came from a culture where women were not frowned upon for using the weapons of their men to defend themselves and their families, he certainly didn't expect the same from Gondor, or that members of the fairer sex would actively seek battle. What he had seen so far did not at least seem to imply that Gondorians would have treated well an armed woman.

"It's possible. I don't know. Maybe she was just some wild daughter of a local peasant, wanting to get a glimpse of all great lords and heroes gathered here", answered the prince. He was looking ahead and the young king couldn't really read his expression. Amrothos continued, "That would explain why she didn't know who you are, Sire. I heard how she shrieked at you."

That made Éomer wince. The stranger's unabashed nerve had truly taken him unawares: even in Rohan he had not heard any woman rage like she had.

"I was hoping perhaps you would have known who she was. I... I confess I was unfair with her. I should like to apologise to her", he confessed softly. Amrothos sharply turned his gaze at him, looking surprised.

"You would, my lord? But she insulted you!" he wondered out loud.

"That she did. Perhaps it was not completely without a base, though. Like I said, my treatment of her was unfair and rude", answered the King.

"Perhaps you'll meet her again here in the camp", offered the younger man. The look in his eyes was for some reason more intent than Éomer would have expected; the matter couldn't have been too high a priority for him, after all.

"Are you certain you didn't recognise her?" he asked, studying Amrothos' face for any sign of dishonesty. But why should the prince have any reason to lie to him?

"Have you seen how many dark-haired women there are in Gondor? Even I can't tell them always apart", said the prince and shrugged dismissively.

Éomer would have asked more, but then Aragorn arrived striding; in his kingly outfit he was very different from the ragged Ranger he had first met on the plains of the Mark. It felt like that encounter had taken place years ago.

"My friend! Good to see you're back", said the older man with a smile. He took note of Amrothos as well, "I assume you're one of Imrahil's sons?"

"That is true, my king. I'm Prince Amrothos, youngest of the three", said the young man, bowing deep on the front of his liege lord. "It is an honour to finally meet you."

"Likewise. Your father has told me much of you, and of your sister Princess Lothíriel", said Aragorn.

"Hopefully good things", Amrothos chuckled, albeit a bit awkwardly. Éomer lifted an eyebrow, as he had not known Amrothos to shy anyone before.

"You know Éomer King already?" Aragorn inquired, looking from his fellow king back to the prince.

"We made each other's acquaintance back in Mundburg. He was visiting his cousin Lord Faramir in the Houses of Healing", said the Rohir. When he had not been busy with running things and managing his new position as the king, he had spent most of his free time with Éowyn. The sight of her there, badly wounded from the battle, had never failed to bring him a sense of guilt and regret.

Amrothos continued, "My lord, I hear it is you we owe our gratitude for saving Faramir. I am quite thankful for my own part."

"Do not mention it. It was the least I could do, and men like your cousin will be sorely needed in rebuilding this land", Aragorn said in that familiar modest way of his. Really, Éomer couldn't say if he had met many other men as dismissive of their own importance as this Heir of Isildur was.

"Still, all our kin is grateful. As is my sister, who is very fond of Faramir", said the prince. He then bowed his head at the two kings, "I fear I must take my leave now. Good night to you, my lords!"

After bidding good night to the young man, the two men continued together forward, and Éomer told his friend of the patrol in the woods. At least this time Aragorn refrained making comments on how he should leave those for others, as there were many very qualified warriors in the camp.

It was late when he finally got into his own tent and lay down to rest... and unsurprisingly, his first thought was of a rude dark-haired woman, charging and shooting arrows in the light of waning day...

* * *

Who and how Amrothos had bullied in order to get a tent of his own, Lothíriel couldn't tell. Nevertheless it was located on the outskirts of the Dol Amrothian fraction of the camp, and it was just large enough for e two of them for couple of nights.

As soon as she had convinced him to help her, they had agreed she ought to return to Minas Tirith as soon as she could. That shouldn't be a problem as there was moderately often traffic between the camp and the city, mostly in the form of food wagons. It was truly astounding what amount of nourishment a camp this large required. Though large it was, both siblings concurred it would be safer for her to leave it quickly, lest she happened on the King of Rohan again and was forced to reveal her identity. And if Father got wind of it, there would be no point in hiding.

It was a disappointment to leave the camp so soon without a chance to really participate in all the celebrations and excite that took place there, but more than entertainment Lothíriel wanted to remain anonymous to the Lord of the Mark... even despite what Amrothos said.

"Sister, the man did not really seem that bad when I talked with him. He was actually rather decent, I must say. He even said he'd like to apologise to you", he tried that night after he had returned into the tent.

"No! I'm not going to let him know who I am. Maybe he'll just flare out again the moment he sees me! And even if he didn't, Father would sooner or later hear of how I insulted his friend, and then he'll let me hear about it for the rest of my life. I'd rather this King of Rohan just forget my face", Lothíriel insisted stubbornly.

Amrothos sighed resignedly and settled down on his side of the tent.

"But if he finds out about this – and that we lied to him – he's going to be far angrier than if you just went and faced him. Father too would be appalled, considering he has always taught us to be honest", he pointed out.

"I know", Lothíriel muttered. "I don't like this any more than you do."

"Fine. We'll do this your way", said her brother. "But mark my words: it'll be a wonder if he doesn't find out truth anyway."

"Well, maybe he won't", she told him and pulled a blanket over herself, already anxiously waiting for the morrow.

She slept fitfully that night and woke up just before sunrise. Momentarily she considered going back to sleep, but then an idea of taking an early morning swim came to her. This was probably the best time for it anyway, as the possibility of running into anyone was smaller. So she got up and pulled on her boots, blinking away last remnants of sleep from her eyes.

Amrothos was snoring away in contentment and he didn't even wake up when she went through some of his clothes. Though he was wider by shoulders and taller than her, his tunics fit her well enough; it didn't seem like she was wearing a tent. She even found some soap, and as soon as she had her things gathered she headed out.

The air of early morning was brisk and fresh and she drew it in with long breaths. On her way to the stream she encountered only couple other early birds, but most of the camp was still fast asleep. As the river was located fairly close to the camp, she judged it was safe enough, and anyway the battle last night should have convinced orcs in the area that it was a wise decision to lay low for now.

The woods were quite fair in this new fresh spring and Lothíriel felt better since the skirmish last night. She even hummed a cheerful little tune to herself and would have broken out in a song had she not wanted to enjoy the peace of early morning.

She came to the river then and stopped to regard this great stream for a while. Here Anduin's current was gentle enough for swimming purposes. Soft mist of morning hung over the water and the sun was starting to rise, bathing the world in gold. Lothíriel stood there for a bit, admiring the beauty of a new rising day. Then, anxious to get to bathing, she got rid of her clothing and hopped into water.

It was cold of course, but she welcomed the prickling freshness of it. It washed away what remnants of sleep still remained and somehow also seemed to make better what had happened last night. She still frowned when she thought of the King of Rohan, though; she ought to have known he was someone important.

But he had been so _rude. _What business of his it was if she chose to carry a bow and fought when a battle commenced? She'd have thought him far more understanding at least, as they said his own sister had ridden into battle! The Rohirrim obviously were a people of warriors!

His own sister...

Unless, it _was _this Slayer of the Witch-king that had partly caused the man's reaction.

Be it as may, one thing she did know for sure and that was she did not want to meet the man again, not here at least. Perhaps that could happen in Minas Tirith, when she was sufficiently polished and her maidservant Bainiel had made her look like an actual lady. The maidservant, found by her aunt Ivriniel few years ago, had turned the transformation of the princess from cave troll into a lady into an art form; surely it would even fool the King of Rohan, and he'd eventually forget about the wild archer woman he had encountered in the woods?

Satisfied with this plan, Lothíriel allowed a smile to herself and returned to the riverbank for her soap. Troll she might be but one thing about lady-likeness she appreciated, and that was bathing. But the water was starting to feel too cold and she hurried up, and when she got up from the stream her teeth were clattering already.

She had just about pulled her borrowed tunic over her head when a sound of someone singing softly alerted her. This someone was striding towards the river with alarming speed: Lothíriel had just about time to grab her things and plunge into a bush before the culprit arrived. The sound of Rohirric should have helped her to put together two and two, but she still had to bite back a curse of surprise when none else than the King of Rohan arrived to the riverbank.

_Sweet Elbereth. _Of course this man would wander to the scene when she was dressed in nothing but a tunic borrowed from Amrothos! Somewhere, the fates must have been laughing at her.

The King of Rohan stood at the brink of water for a moment, evidently admiring the beauty of April morning like she had, but then he began to undress and Lothíriel had to bite her fist in order not to groan in frustration. She should have known he too fancied early morning swims. Quickly, the princess tried to come up with some way she could sneak away without his notice... but her concentration was broken when she took note of the King's quite naked state.

_Oh dear. _

Even in the safety of the bush where he couldn't see her, she still felt the warmth on her cheeks and she knew the shade of her skin must have been that of beetroot. She might be just as deranged as her brothers sometimes claimed but that didn't mean she made a habit of peeping at bathing men – she had never seen a naked man before now and a naked King even less. It didn't make it any easier that the damned man wasn't bad to look at. Regretfully Lothíriel considered she must have been the unluckiest princess in the history of Arda, judging by the situations she kept meeting this Lord. Amrothos would have laughed himself to death had he known!

At least the man finally made his way into water and started to swim, and his movements were alike to a great cat completely at ease. Well, if there was anything good about this he had at least come alone: if he had brought his guards here, Lothíriel had no doubt they'd have found her already. Perhaps she could stay in the bush until this annoying king was done and left?

She was still considering this alternative when a sudden noise alarmed her: there was a hissing and sliding sound somewhere just under her legs... and then she spotted the snake, on which she must have practically leaped when she had sought refuge from this bush. Before she could stop herself Lothíriel gave out shriek, though as soon as that noise pierced the air she recognised the creature. It was a harmless grass snake and the poor thing was far more terrified of her than she was of it.

Nevertheless, the damage had already been done.

"Who is there?!" exclaimed a sharp, threatening voice. The edge of it promised that the King of Rohan would very much run up from the river, stark naked and fight just so, if she didn't announce herself. _Damn!_

"No one!" she yelled stupidly back at him, peering through the leaves and branches.

"Am I to understand I'm conversing with a bush, then?" asked the man unimpressedly. He stood in water tensed as if in preparation for a battle, and scanned the riverbank with his dark eyes.

"Yes, precisely. But I'm a people-hating bush, so get back to your swimming and leave me alone", Lothíriel said. Perhaps he'd deem her mad and indeed decide he'd better not talk to her.

However, she wasn't quite so lucky. The man frowned now and narrowed his eyes as his gaze fixed on her hiding place, which he had rightly located now.

"Wait a minute. Do I know you? Your voice sounds familiar", he said then, taking a step towards the bank.

"Um. No, you don't know me. I just have that kind of a voice, is all. Everyone always tells me that", Lothíriel said quickly. The last thing she needed was the King realising just who she was.

"I think you're lying", said the infuriating Rohir. "I know I've heard you before."

"No, you haven't! Please leave me alone!" said the princess, more desperate this time.

"You should tell me who you are, or I am going to rise up from this river, and I'm not going to mind the fact that I am not presentable at the moment", he announced and took another and quite threatening step towards the riverbank.

It would have been a lie to say that she thought of what she did then. Rather, Lothíriel just followed some instinct or reflex, whatever one should call it. Be it as may, she pressed her bundle of things against her chest, stood up as gracefully as that was possible in the situation, and leaped out.

The fact that there was a scantily-clad woman standing on the bank of the stream did have the best effect she could have hoped for. The King froze where he was, fortunately still waist-deep in the water, and stared at her. Never had Lothíriel been quite as aware of having legs – and never had a man witnessed them like he now did. The tunic fell barely to her mid-thigh and the water from her bath had partly turned the material see-through.

_Oh sweet Elbereth and the seven stars! _Here she was, nearly naked on the front of the King of the Mark while he was taking a morning swim! It sounded too absurd to be really happening.

A long moment went by, with both of them too shocked to really react, until he moved as if to approach her. But then Lothíriel shook herself and glared at him.

"You stay right where you are, or I'm going to steal your clothes and run away with them!" she snapped angrily. She half expected him not to listen, but surprisingly he did halt. Flabbergasted he stared at her.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I told you I'm a bush", Lothíriel groaned and thought of stealing his clothes anyway. He'd have deserved it, with all the annoyance he was causing her.

"I beg your pardon, but you don't seem like one", he pointed out. At least he was looking her in the eyes instead of staring at her unclad legs.

"I don't care what you think. Now turn around so that I can dress", she ordered. Again he surprised her by complying. For a moment the princess stared at his well-muscled back before she realised how stupid her ogling was and quickly started to pull on her breeches.

"Last night, I didn't have a chance to seek you out. I'd have apologised for our... hmm, encounter in the woods", he said tentatively. He looked like he'd have turned to look at her but she tsk'd at him, and he stayed with his back turned towards her. The King continued, "I apologise now, lady. That is, if you _are _lady."

"It doesn't matter what I am", Lothíriel said, buckling her belt. "But I accept your apology."

He stood as if waiting for something, but when she remained silent he spoke again: "Well?"

"Well what?" Lothíriel asked sharply.

"Aren't you going to apologise back? You did behave rather rudely yourself, if I may say so", he pointed out. Maybe he was right, but he had started it. And now he had decided to come bathe while she was here, and she was so not apologising for anything today and least of all to _him. _

"I'm not! And perhaps you'll understand I'm not worth your while and you'll forget about me. I'm leaving now. Good day!" she told him and turned to leave. However, the King wasn't quite done with her.

"Wait!" he shouted after her. "At least tell me your name!"

"No, I will not! Goodbye!" Lothíriel shouted at him over her shoulder and dashed into forest, trying to get away from this infuriating man as quickly as she could.

She wouldn't even have been too surprised if he had chased after her naked.

* * *

**A/N: **And here we join again Lothíriel and Éomer again in the woods of Ithilien, where we last left them in _Wild Hearts... _only now, the circumstances are _quite _different.

This chapter is mostly meant to feel out our main characters and also to introduce them to each other. That encounter goes... well, you can see how it goes! Lothíriel not wanting to reveal her identity might seem similar to _Wild Hearts, _but here her conviction to do so stems from an entirely another motivation. It is actually likely that Amrothos is right in saying she should just tell Éomer the truth; however we wouldn't have a story if she wasn't stubborn here and perhaps slightly illogical. She's just really scared of tarnishing the reputation of her father in Éomer's eyes and somehow ruining their friendship. Before you shout out that her behaviour at the river doesn't really help with this, but this is actually a conscious choice on my part and relates to the dynamics of their relationship - something which I will explore as the story progresses.

A fun fact about their first encounter: it was actually a scene in a story I worked with back when I finished the first draft of what would eventually become _Heart's Desire. _Eventually I realised the story was rubbish, but I always liked this one scene... and here you see it resurrected.

I suppose this is also a good place for some words on Lothíriel's characterization in this piece. I am under the impression that weapon-wielding, rebellious Lothíriel is considered a cliché and that people don't like that kind of version of her. However, I would at least first plead my case here and leave the rest for your judgement.

While Lothíriel in this piece does appear the usual tomboy kind of type, I would think there's more to her than that. Her rebelliousness is questionable as well, because Imrahil - whom we'll hopefully meet soon - doesn't disapprove of her bearing arms, and even Aunt Ivriniel's ideas about "being a princess" are half-hearted. These matters I hope to explore later on. Anyway, personally I've never really had anything against this characterization of Lothíriel, and I'm not against using clichés if they're executed nicely. Moreover, to me it always made sense that Éomer might be attracted to such a personality - and, as you very well know by now, I suscribe to the idea that the two of them married out of love or at least mutual attraction. And to be honest, that Lothíriel carries a bow and isn't afraid to fight is very much required for what I mean to do with this story. If she's not "the Lioness", then we don't have a story, and I don't know whose purposes that would serve. Not mine, at least.

As ar as canon goes, this idea of a wild girl does seem to fit, if you ask me. You probably noticed how Lothíriel called the name of Mithrellas when she charged. According to the legend Mithrellas is the Elven ancestress of the House of Princes of Dol Amroth who was seeking the sea when she met the founding father of the dynasty. But though she had two children with Imrazor, she eventually chose to carry on her journey, and left behind her mortal family. In my mind this bloodline has bred some of the wide ancient skies and the vast wilderness in her descendants.

Furthermore, I would ask you to give me the benefit of doubt. Lothíriel _now _is one thing. She's young, she's barely met Éomer, and her story is just starting. I hope to take this "headstrong fighter girl" and let her grow as an individual and a woman. Hopefully, in the process, I will also be able to make this characterization my own and give it a fresh spin.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

Quote in the beginning originally by Sun Tzu in "Art of War".

Inspiration for the chapter: Abel Korzeniowski - Juliet's Dream


	3. Chapter 2

"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt." - Ecthelion, The Bard of Lossarnarch

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Never had her arrival to Minas Tirith been quite so mingled with relief and disappointment as it was on the day that Lothíriel returned from her brief and foolish escapade to the Fields of Cormallen.

Relief, because she had eluded more embarrassing encounters with the King of Rohan.

Disappointment, because now she was stuck in the city while waiting for her family to come home. Indeed, all the interesting things were happening there! It almost made her regret coming back to Minas Tirith instead of just confronting the King of Rohan... but then, when she thought of what had happened by the stream of Anduin, she was quite happy that she had indeed chosen to get away from the camp and subsequently the man himself.

Though now she had to ask: was there any chance at all that he might forget her? At least she considered the meeting by the river quite unforgettable.

Be it as may, Amrothos had helped her to get along the escort that was returning Minas Tirith that very day. Following their elaborate story, he had told the leader of the escort – a Rohirric rider who went by the name of Breca – that his father had heard there was a shortage of healers in Minas Tirith and as such he was sending one of his own personal healers to help out. The name of Prince Imrahil proved an adequate warranty, and Lothíriel had joined the group without further questions. All had went well, though she had nearly fallen from her saddle when the King of Rohan along with his men had ridden from one of his patrols. The only reason he had not spotted her was her hooded cloak and the fact that she had turned away quickly enough.

How fitting it would have been for him to see her then: she couldn't possibly have made it away if he indeed had spotted her. And after their little encounter back at the river, there was no way he would have let her escape.

The journey to the White City had been tedious. This time there had not even been Amrothos to talk with, and she dared not chat much with the rest of the company. None need to know that Princess of Dol Amroth was travelling aboard, because a word of that would just have raised unwanted questions. All in all she had managed to make the journey with astonishingly few problems and no one had even recognised her... but then, she hadn't exactly made a noise about herself. Well, those things went as far as the King of the Mark was not concerned.

As she had expected the time spent waiting for the Host of the West to return to Minas Tirith was quite long and boring. Folks were already returning to the city and so it was at least a bit livelier than before, and so much of her time she spent at the markets – though compared to the years of peace and plenty it was minimal. Her cousin Faramir was very busy with arranging everything so that things would be ready for when Isildur's Heir returned... but at least one night not so long before the day that the King returned he did have time for a supper with her.

He had invited her to the Steward's House, which now of course belonged to him. It was strange, thinking he was the master of that house now; Uncle Denethor had always seemed like he'd live forever. But now he was gone, and so was Boromir.

But their conversations did not touch those who were now gone, but went along more lighter topics, until half-way through the supper Faramir cast a thoughtful look at her.

"I have to say, I'm kind of surprised to hear you didn't accompany Amrothos to the Fields of Cormallen", he said; the two of them had not kept much noise about their comings and goings, so Faramir had never heard of the matter at all until from her – and that was only about Amrothos' departure.

"Well, I thought it wouldn't probably be too interesting, and it'd be dangerous anyway..." Lothíriel said quickly, though as soon as that sentence was out of her mouth she realised how unlike her it was. Faramir appeared to think so too, for he lifted his eyebrows.

"Really? When has danger ever held you back, cousin?" he wondered out loud.

"Um, never", she allowed as there was no way she could have somehow denied the truth. "But I thought maybe Father would like me to stay here."

"There's another thing you rarely pay heed to, Lothíriel", Faramir pointed out. Oh, she should have known he'd take up this matter!

"It's, hmm, all those kings around him. They'd probably think ill of me, if I came prancing into the middle of them, and I should at least to try and hold up the honour of Dol Amroth", she mumbled and took a long sip of her wine.

"I wouldn't be too worried about them. Lord Aragorn doesn't seem like he lets small matters to bother him, and King Éomer is even more easygoing", Faramir commented. His words about the Rohirric king had Lothíriel snorting in the middle of her drink and she nearly choked. Her cousin lifted eyebrows, "Did I say something funny?"

"Not at all", she answered as soon as she had cleared her throat. "I just didn't think even the King of the horselords would be too approving of women bearing arms."

"I suppose that's true, to an extent. You see, the Rohirrim are not against fighting women per say. Lady Éowyn tells me they have many songs and legends about Shieldmaidens who would ride to battle along with the men... I have even heard some news that the White Lady was not the only woman to take up arms in this war. But their King is a bit more complicated matter. He did not take well what happened to his sister – she nearly died in the battle, you see. And she is last that is left of his kin", Faramir explained softly.

Lothíriel frowned to herself, taking another sip of her wine to take a moment to think. Well, Faramir's words did explain some things. The King must have been remembering his sister when he had seen her charging, and being the hot-tempered fellow everyone said he was, he had lashed out on her.

And Lady Éowyn was the last of his kin... how lonely his life sounded like!

To rid herself of these thoughts and to lead the conversation to other topics, she looked at her cousin quizzically, "What do you know about these kings anyway? You've been here all the time, and were still recovering when they left."

A faint smile appeared on Faramir's face.

"Cousin, I may not have had a chance to see much of Lord Aragorn, but I know already that he is an exceptional man. What he did for me is no ordinary thing... I can't explain it, but when he called me and brought me back, I knew he was something I had never seen before, and someone I could follow to fire and death", he said slowly – she even spotted something like reverence in his voice.

"As for the King Éomer", Faramir continued, "I have much spoken with his sister, Lady Éowyn of Rohan and also with Marshal Elfhelm who remains here in the city. I may not yet know their new King, but both his sister and his Marshal speak of him highly and with love. And the fact remains he rode here with his uncle the late King, and fought for us and joined his forces with us. I can't think ill of a man like that."

"Hmm. All this talk about the man exhausts me. He's probably just some rude and insolent fellow who likes to shout at people", Lothíriel remarked and skewered a piece of chicken on her plate with force enough to send the fork through it, wishing for the conversation to move on to other topics already. But Faramir rolled his eyes and didn't seem too impressed by her words.

"If you met him, you'd be surprised to see how wrong you are", he said, but didn't pursue the matter any further than that. Rather, he asked about her battle training of late, which was a nice enough topic, and soon the two were fast discussing the intricacies of archery.

Still, it would have been a lie to say Lothíriel did not think any more of the King of Rohan on that night... or on many a night that came after.

Halfway through April, a word finally came that the Host of the West was on its way to Minas Tirith.

"Finally!" Lothíriel exclaimed upon hearing these news, and her spirits were immediately restored, though her sister-in-law Aredhel, newly arrived from Dol Amroth, snorted and rolled her eyes. Waiting for her father and brothers to come home had been more than just a little frustrating even with Aredhel around, and most of the days she had wandered around like sleepwalker. The most pleasant times had been those she had spent on horseback or on the training fields of the Citadel. Her handmaiden Bainiel and Aredhel had said she could try and spend her time in the company of noble ladies who had started to return into the city ever since the great battle before the walls of Minas Tirith, but Lothíriel had quickly discarded that idea. For one, she didn't really know the courtiers too well, and in any case the whole idea of spending days with them didn't seem too appealing to her.

But still some days remained before the Host would reach the White City, and during that time such preparations were seen in Minas Tirith that Lothíriel suspected if there had ever been anything alike. Flowers were brought into the city, and the palace was prepared, and great feasts as well; the ladies of the court reportedly were quite desperate in their preparations too, trying to get their gowns and garments ready for the extensive celebrations that would doubtlessly last for a while.

Altogether the overall atmosphere was excited, for nothing like this had taken place in a very long time, and after a time of fear and darkness celebration seemed more than welcome. So, on the day Isildur's Heir was set to enter the city, there was a great crowd not only at the gates but also lining the way all the way up to the Citadel. The princess herself only made it as far as the gates because of Faramir; he asked whether she'd like to come along to see her family arrive. Lothíriel had eagerly agreed, even though she knew just who would be there as well. But being the kind of situation this was, she figured the King of Rohan would not be able to approach her in the crowd. Chances were he wouldn't even spot her in the crowd and to blend in, she had dressed plainly and told her handmaiden no elaborateness was allowed today.

In the end, it turned out she was too hopeful... for almost as soon as the company of the Lord Aragorn had arrived and Faramir was welcoming him into the city, Lothíriel's own eyes sought out the tall golden-haired rider. At that same moment when she saw him his eyes fixed on her as well, and the gaze of his dark eyes pierced her where she stood.

And so firmly those eyes held her that Lothíriel barely was aware of anything else; looking at him, she could see he had hard time staying where was instead of just charging through the crowd. To herself, she wondered why this man had to be so damned intense, and why his gaze burned her so. Probably to annoy her, she mused.

But then, as she started to feel more and more awkward under that scrutinising gaze, Lothíriel suddenly couldn't help but make a face at him, completely unladylike and altogether rude. He seemed taken aback, and she had to look down and bite her lip hard in order not to snigger to herself – this was no place or time for this, and she wished Amrothos had been there to give her a good kick.

As soon as she had composed herself she looked up again and concentrated on Faramir and Lord Elfstone, though at the edge of her vision that insufferable king still remained, always threatening to pull her attention to himself. What an annoying fellow! Here she was, witnessing a historical moment, and this stupid golden-haired, loud-voiced, swim-loving, nonsensical ruffian had to be there to distract her!

Yet so it passed, rough-mannered princesses and their musings aside, that Isildur's Heir returned and King Elessar was welcomed into the city, and the age of the kings began; but as the great company rode past her Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth was making faces at the King Éomer of Rohan.

* * *

Amrothos had done magnificent job in keeping secret her little escapade in Ithilien, and her brothers and Father were quite happy to be reunited with her on that very same day when the Host returned to Minas Tirith. They were also blissfully unaware of her brief visit to the Fields of Cormallen, and behind their backs Amrothos mouthed _"__you owe me."_

About as soon as their father, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, was seated and had a drink in hand, Lothíriel practically flew to his side.

"Now I'd like to hear everything", she announced, which made her father smile.

"Everything, daughter? Surely the news from Cormallen have already arrived here in more exhaustive quantities than you could ever hope for", he said lightly.

"Well, I've not heard your version, Father!" Lothíriel answered nonchalantly.

"You don't know how miserable she has been here in Minas Tirith, Father Imrahil", Aredhel put in. "At times I even wished you might have taken her along when you rode for the Black Gate!"

"Oh, dearest daughter, what am I ever going to do with you?" sighed Father helplessly. He shook his head, but then took a sip of his drink and began to describe the events leading and following the battle before the gate of the Land of Shadow. Though she knew all had turned out well and her father was sitting there beside her, the story still chilled her heart at some points, and it was kind of scary on how little all had depended on. Elphir and Erchirion made comments every now and then to fill some gaps or tell of things they had seen take place.

"But after the victory there is not really too much to tell", Father said then, having explained what had happened on the battle-field. "Most time we have spent resting and healing, as there were many wounded who couldn't be moved too far. It has been quite peaceful and pleasant."

"And you've heard of no disturbances?" Lothíriel asked carefully. She should probably know if anything of her encounter with the King of Rohan had come to his ears.

"Just some minor things, like couple of small brawls. Our good friend, Éomer King and his men, kept the most vigilant guard around the camp", Father said. He sat up straighter, "Speaking of him, I was thinking I could perhaps introduce you to him tonight. I understand there's going to be a gathering at the palace in the honour of the King."

"But no, Father!" Lothíriel argued quickly. "I mean, shouldn't we have a nice and quiet supper together, or something like that? It would be good after you have been away in the war."

"I know you have your opinions about the society but even you never preferred quiet supper over proper court gatherings", Erchirion pointed out, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"It's probably going to be very dull", she answered, trying for an unaffected tone.

"Nonsense. A celebration like this has not been seen in hundred of years – it is quite special, and I suggest you come along too. Myself and Elphir will have to attend in any case, to represent Dol Amroth", Father said calmly.

Seeing that arguing further would only make Father curious as to why was she being so reluctant, and so Lothíriel forced a smile on her face. She spoke, "Of course. I'll... I'll just go and see if I have anything to put on."

He smiled now too and gave a kiss to her forehead, and Lothíriel exited the scene, trying not to look like she was in much of a hurry.

Like all members of the family, she had her own chamber in the House of Princes. Over the years, it had not received much change or new additions. The furniture was the same light kind one could see in other rooms of the house, and had large windows letting in much light. Evidently the man who had designed the building had liked to let in as much sun as he could get. Lothíriel would perhaps have preferred something else, maybe some deeper and richer colours, but on the other hand she didn't have many gifts when it came to redecorating.

Now she fell on her stomach on the bed and groaned in frustration. What was she supposed to do here? After her little show at the gates of the city there was no way she could meet the man again! What had she been even thinking?!

She was in the middle of considering the benefits of hitting her head against something hard when Amrothos wandered in. She paid no heed to him, however.

"I take it this all is about the King of Rohan?" he asked lightly, settling down on her dressing table's chair.

"The man drives me crazy. What am I supposed to do here, Amrothos?" Lothíriel wailed, rolling over on her back.

"You could go and meet him tonight", he offered. "I'm sure he has already forgotten about you, like we hoped."

"No!" she exclaimed, her voice coming out as something almost like a shriek. "I can't meet him!"

Her brother frowned at her outburst.

"Why not? Why are you so against settling this for good?" he inquired, watching her with narrowed eyes.

For a moment, Lothíriel considered not telling him. No one needn't know of how she had embarrassed herself. Perhaps she could run back to Dol Amroth tomorrow... and if it ever came to that she'd have to face the King of the horselords again, she'd worry about it then. However, as she looked again at her brother, she knew she couldn't keep this from him. For one, Amrothos had an annoying way of fishing out things he wanted to know, and the more she thought of this the more convinced she became there was no way she could avoid the horselord without some help.

So, sighing heavily, she sat up on the bed and briefly made clear what had happened at the river. As Amrothos' eyes began to widen along the story's progression, Lothíriel had to look away, and she felt her cheeks heating up. It had to be the most ridiculous thing she had ever done and she simply _could not _face the damned man again.

When the words at last were out she bowed her head and couldn't decide which she wanted more: to throw up or punch herself. Amrothos remained silent for a while before speaking up.

"Well", he said at last in a strained voice, "You have overdone yourself this time, sister. That's for sure at least."

"I know that! I don't need your opinions or ridicule – I need you to help me to avoid this man to the end of the world!" she shrieked, near hysterical now.

"Calm down, sister!" he quickly said, bouncing to sit on the bed across her. "Really, it's not that bad. Maybe you should just go and apologise to him? Tell him the truth?"

"Amrothos -" she started in a dangerous voice, and he picked up the significance of that tone quickly enough.

"All right, all right. You don't have to murder me", he told her promptly. Leaning back, he frowned and scratched his chin, "It's just that if you're seriously meaning to avoid him... it's not going to be easy. Not at all."

"But we have to come up with something!" she said desperately. Amrothos narrowed his eyes then.

"Do you think you could just pretend you don't know him? Make him think you just have some crazy twin out there?" he offered.

"He'd never buy that lie. Not now. He had too good a look on my face by the river – he'd know I was lying", Lothíriel said miserably. Perhaps, if they hadn't shared that uncomfortable encounter by the river, Amrothos' idea might have worked.

"Well, the chances are he'd only know your legs", he said pointedly, which made Lothíriel hit him with a pillow.

"That's not funny!" she snapped angrily. He quickly organised a more sombre expression on his features.

"Sorry, sister", he said. Resting his chin on his hand, he went on, "Didn't we agree you'd tread more carefully with the man, though? That encounter by the river sounds everything but careful."

Lothíriel felt frustrated. Her brother did have a point and she couldn't think of anything to make it sound less nonsensical. Had she acted meek and mild, she might have been able to avoid the man's attention. However, her demeanour of a madwoman had likely only ever succeeded in making a lasting impression.

"I know! I just... I couldn't really do anything about it, brother. It was all just so unreal and stupid and he wasn't supposed to be there, and I couldn't..." she groaned, rubbing her temples wearily. "He's so annoying!"

"You're very likely the only noblewoman in Gondor to think that", Amrothos said dryly. Scratching his nose, he thought out loud, "Obviously if we go with Father he'll drag you to meet the man. We'll just have to come up with something so that we can come a bit later. You should put some effort to how you look, I think. He has only seen your wild appearance, hasn't he? And to be honest, I believe he'll be too surrounded by the unmarried ladies to really have any time to pay attention to anything else. Just stay out of his way and you'll be fine."

"Are you sure that's going to work?" Lothíriel asked doubtfully.

"It's going to be a large celebration. As long as you're careful, it'll be all right", insisted her brother and gave her a comforting smile.

"And what if Father insists I meet this king?" she asked, feeling just slightly miserable now. Just why did she have to get herself into this trouble?

"We'll worry about that later, sister", Amrothos said calmingly. "And there's always the alternative of going back to Dol Amroth."

"No! This is my city and I'm not going to leave because of some annoying horselord", announced the princess, which brought an exasperated look on the face of her brother.

"You're completely absurd, sister", he told her. She made a face at him.

"Oh, I know."

* * *

The two of them heard the multitude of voices chattering away before they entered the hall of Merethrond. As planned, the majority of quests had already arrived by the time Amrothos and Lothíriel made their way in. Indeed, the crowd was larger than anything she had ever seen. It truly appeared that all the nobility in the land was participating this celebration.

She felt a slight shiver run down her spine as they stepped in and scanned the host of guests. Quickly enough her eyes found what she had sought: the King of Rohan was blissfully surrounded by what looked like hopeful fathers of noble unmarried ladies... of which there also appeared to be an abundance. As her heart settled she decided she could attend to this celebration without a fear of him having a chance to notice her.

"This would be a good chance of going to talk to him and apologise", Amrothos muttered to her under his breath.

"Brother, we've already talked about this", she said sharply, which made him sigh.

"Well, it's not going to be my fault if he notices you anyway", he answered. Lothíriel would have retorted something devastatingly clever and stinging to that, but then Faramir arrived to greet them, wearing that light smile one could see more often on his face these days.

"Cousins! There you are at last. I was starting to wonder whether you'd come at all", he said; he appeared to be on cheerful mood. To Lothíriel he gave a kiss on her cheek and patted Amrothos' shoulder. After exchanging the news and some pleasantries, he inquired, "Now, would you like to come with me? I could introduce you to King Elessar and King Éomer, our honoured guest."

Lothíriel let out an awkward little laugh.

"He seems rather preoccupied at the moment. Perhaps later", she said quickly.

"Yes, the man appears to have met enough noble ladies for one night", Amrothos agreed.

Faramir glanced at the King of Rohan and then considered the two siblings, wearing an expression Lothíriel couldn't read (which worried her). But then he nodded and even smiled slightly.

"As you wish, then", he agreed. He spoke: "Tell me at least you'll come and meet King Elessar?"

"Lead the way, cousin!" Lothíriel said – she really didn't want to cause any suspicion here, and the last thing she needed was Faramir meddling with the matter. She'd have to be extremely careful with him, considering the things they said about him and Lady Éowyn. That would certainly become a problem sooner or later, but she decided to worry about that later.

King Elessar proved to be a pleasant, soft-spoken man whose eyes held kindness and warmth. Yet even so, one never forgot the strength emanating from him. To her slight surprise Lothíriel realised it oddly reminded her of the King of Rohan, though in the annoying horselord's case said strength was of more wild kind. Still, altogether it seemed to her that Gondor had received a great gift in this man and looking at him, she felt reassured.

Then Father arrived, accompanied by Elphir and Aredhel. They, along with Erchirion, had come a bit earlier than Amrothos and Lothíriel (apparently her brother had told him she was having some womanly conditions in order to avoid having him insist they meet the King of horselords; she had seriously considered kicking Amrothos for that), and appeared to already have made the necessary courtesy round of meeting friends and relatives.

"So you decided to come after all! Amrothos said you were not feeling good enough to attend to the celebration", Father said with a lift of his eyebrows.

"Oh, I'm feeling quite glorious now, Father", she simpered quickly, but the note of her voice sounded fake even to herself.

"I hope you're not ill at least, Princess?" asked Elessar, his brow creasing with concern.

"Not at all, my lord. Like I said, I am well", Lothíriel quickly insisted, even managing a smile for him.

"That is good. This would be a unfortunate time to be sick, my lady", he said and his expression softened.

"Perhaps this would also be a good time for me to introduce you to King Éomer? I would like you to meet him", Father said then.

That nearly turned her smile into a cringe. Father didn't seem to notice, but King Elessar's eyes narrowed just slightly and he regarded her silently, as though reading her mind.

"I'll just get something to drink first, Father", she said awkwardly, and before he could protest she curtsied to Elessar and swiftly fled the company.

It was Aredhel who shortly found her hiding behind some pillars. Over the years, she had become something of an older sister to Lothíriel, though that was not to say they were very similar. For one, Aredhel had always handled the princess thing with flawlessness the younger woman could but dream of, and altogether Elphir's wife had a gentler and calmer nature. However, it was her who usually saw through Lothíriel with accuracy others did not quite possess.

"There you are", said Aredhel when she spotted the princess behind the pillars. "What's this about?"

"Um, nothing at all. I just, hmm, needed a moment alone", Lothíriel said quickly. Her sister-in-law didn't seem too convinced.

"Tell me the truth, Lothíriel. Is something wrong?" Aredhel asked steadily. Though by Amrothian standards she was of small build, she possessed strange kind of authority that usually made people want to obey her. It wasn't often that she used this commanding tone but whenever she did it was usually very effective.

"I just... I didn't want to be introduced to the King of Rohan", Lothíriel answered, feeling miserable and beaten. Aredhel frowned in confusion.

"Why not? I found him to be perfectly charming when Father Imrahil introduced us. He's not an ogre, sister", she pointed out.

"I know. But I can't face him, Aredhel. He'd know me, and... oh, Elbereth! This just keeps getting worse and worse", wailed the princess. The frown on her sister-in-law's face became now deeper.

"Lothíriel, is there something you would like to tell me?" Aredhel asked, her tone now becoming softer and gentler.

Briefly, the younger woman considered just blurting out the truth about the unfortunate encounters with the King of the horselords. But even thinking of it embarrassed her. Perhaps Amrothos had been right in saying she should just run off to Dol Amroth and hide there... to the end of the world, it was starting to look like.

_This is ridiculous. _

"I really can't. Not now at least. I'm sorry, Aredhel", she mumbled tiredly. It already felt like the night had been long and exhausting, even though she had only been here for less than an hour.

Her answer did nothing for her sister-in-law's suspicions and the look in her eyes made Lothíriel fear Aredhel would just go and grill Amrothos for answers. She'd have to make sure he'd not spill out any unpleasant stories.

"You are being awfully strange, Lothíriel", said Aredhel in a slightly accusing voice.

"Oh, I'm quite aware of that. But strange is the ordinary state of matters for me, as you know", she muttered moodily and sighed. "I need to go and find Amrothos."

"Very well. I'll let you keep your secret for now, but whatever it is and how it pertains to the King Éomer, you can rest assured you won't be able to avoid him endlessly", said the older woman solemnly.

"I know", Lothíriel answered, cringing in frustration. "I'll think of something, but now I really need to talk with my brother."

But as she stepped from behind those sheltering pillars and sought the crowd for Amrothos, it wasn't the face of her sibling that drew her attention... instead, it was a pair of dark eyes that locked with hers, staring at her from the other side of the hall. Though she had made every effort to appear lady-like tonight she could tell from his expression he recognised her.

Lothíriel muttered a curse under her breath, and then the King of Rohan started to make his way through the crowd towards her.

_Damn._

* * *

Being a member of the royal house of Rohan and a famous warrior, Éomer had always enjoyed certain prestige among the womenfolk. Unmarried maidens certainly had an eye for him – and so did some wedded wives as well (though he knew better than to go down _that _road). In other words, usually it was that passionate ladies ran _after _him – something that had only increased now that he was king – not _from _him.

So, when he saw the strange archer woman flee through the crowd he did feel certain degree of bemusement. It was not behaviour he was familiar with and it truly did perplex him, because the mystery of this lady only continued to grow. What was she anyway? A peasant, a bandit, a noblewoman? First she appeared dishevelled and wearing breeches in the woods, and then nearly naked by a riverbank, and now she was in the middle of a crowd of lords and ladies of Gondor.

By the time he got to where he had seen her, the strange woman was already long gone... and he wasn't sure why, but he felt intensely disappointed that she had once again escaped him.

Then a hand came in contact with his forearm, and Éomer turned to see his sister there. Éowyn looked so much better now: a healthy glow had returned to her face and there was light in her eyes. Every time he saw that look on her face he felt great relief but also gratefulness, for he loved his sister very much, and her despair had concerned him.

"Is something amiss, brother?" she asked. As always, she could read him like no one else.

"There was just... remember that woman I told you about before? She was here", he answered quietly. Knowing it was folly to try and conceal things from her he had already told Éowyn of the odd encounters with the strange archer. Well, he had left out some things, like the naked part of the chance meeting at the river, though he had a feeling Éowyn suspected something anyway.

Now she lifted her eyebrows.

"I thought you said she was probably some peasant running wild", she pointed out.

"That's what I thought before. But how would a peasant be here tonight?" he asked.

"Maybe she sneaked in. She certainly sounds like someone who would do that", Éowyn offered.

"Aye", he agreed softly. A frown came to his face as he thought of how she had looked like when he had spotted her among the crowd. She had seemed like an actual lady... rather lovely even. "There is something familiar about her. I wish I knew what it was."

"We aren't going to leave the city just tomorrow. Maybe you'll see her again, and find out who she is", Éowyn offered. She smiled at him then, "Come along, brother. There are plenty of ladies here who aren't going to run away from you. Perhaps you should appreciate that?"

The young king grumbled.

"As it happens I'd rather _they _would be the ones to run", he muttered. But then he gave her a half-smile, "Do you think they'd do that if I drank myself silly?"

"You wouldn't do that to me", Éowyn said nonchalantly, linked her arm with his, and pulled him with her to meet yet another nobleman he wouldn't probably remember afterwards.

And he kept glancing about for the rest of the night... but the grey eyes he hoped to see were not to there.

* * *

**A/N: **So, we have now reached Minas Tirith. I'm not sure if I'm entirely happy with this chapter, but felt it was necessary. Lothíriel is still under the impression she can actually avoid meeting Éomer officially, but what she hasn't realised yet is that her reluctance to just face him will likely make it only worse. Well, she's stubborn and needs to figure out things on her own terms - and the effect he has on her doesn't really help with clear-headedness. I'm not sure either of them are really good at being too rational when it comes to each other, considering the circumstances of their encounters so far. But perhaps in the next chapter we'll see things advance a bit!

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks for reading!

* * *

Quote in the beginning originally by William Shakespeare in "Measure for Measure".

* * *

**Le Pleiade - **And I did enjoy writing that! I seem to have a thing for Éomer and Lothíriel getting caught in scenes like that. :D

**annafan - **Thanks for your comments! I must say you did reassure me that this version of Lothíriel is fine. :) Sometimes I get ridiculously worried over things like that.

Also thanks for language help! I'm not a native speaker and I try to stick to British English, but spending too much American English media has probably ruined me, and sometimes I make these mistakes. So any comments on my grammar and vocabulary are welcomed.

**Glory Bee - **I'm always glad to hear someone reads my ramblings in Author's Notes. :) And good to hear you liked that scene!

**Talia119 - **Yes, it does make sense to me as well that having three brothers would have that kind of an effect. Not to mention this version of Lothíriel is very enjoyable to write.

As for Amrothos, I'm thinking it's probably just that Imrahil didn't want to take all his children to face the danger. Partly it might have been because of Lothíriel. He probably felt she'd only feel worse if she was the only one left behind. He was hoping she and Amrothos would take care of each other, in case things went south.

Are you planning to publish that story?

**Sandy-wmd - **Oh, he's probably very right in that. But Lothíriel is stubborn, and like I said, she needs to figure out these things on her own.

**siny - **Happy to hear that! I am very glad to hear you so enjoy my stories, and hopefully you'll continue to like this. :)


	4. Chapter 3

Ilúvatar has given you one face, and you make yourself another. - Ecthelion, The Bard of Lossarnarch

* * *

**Chapter 3**

The morning was so fair that Lothíriel couldn't really feel too bad when she ventured to the training grounds of the Citadel on that day. Last night had been bewildering and uncomfortable and Father had said he was rather disappointed in her for disappearing the way she had, and the worst thing had been she couldn't tell him the truth behind it. So, when after the celebration Father had told her she had behaved horribly for so ignoring the King of Rohan who was a friend, she had just remained quiet and without even an attempt to excuse herself. Eventually Father had sighed and told everyone to go to bed, but Amrothos had given her a look that spoke loud: _I told you so. _

Well, it wasn't like any of this came as a surprise. Lothíriel knew that refusing to meet the King and settling this for good would only make it worse if she did come to confront him, which was more likely than not. He _was _her father's friend and his sister and Faramir had something very serious going on. But even as this knowledge threatened to crush her, Lothíriel reminded herself that soon the King would go back to his northern land, she wouldn't have to interact him beyond the inevitable official meeting which would probably end with his deep offence, and he'd never talk to her again.

She arrived to the training grounds then and pushed aside thoughts of the King of Rohan. It was pleasantly peaceful there now: after the war, it seemed few felt the need for training... or perhaps everyone was still recovering from last night's feast. Upon her flight from the hall of Merethrond she had heard couple of guards lamenting for having duty on that particular night as there were parties taking place all over the city.

The training grounds was a wide open area at the very bottom of the Citadel, away from the more formal part where the court was located. The place was not far from the barracks and was surrounded by storage chambers, a small smithery, and other necessary buildings. Sometimes, when she had been younger, she had come here to watch her cousins train with the Guards of the Citadel. She fondly remembered those times as Boromir had always been happy to provide her with sword lessons, though apparently Uncle Denethor hadn't liked that too much. Boromir had usually beaten her of course (except for the times when he let her win), but she had learned much from him. Though she preferred her bow, Lothíriel felt that the most she knew of swordplay she owed to her late cousin.

After dragging out some dummies from the storage and placing there on the field to different distances, she picked up her bow and began her training. Taking aim and shooting cleared her head in a way few other things ever managed, and for a while all thoughts of insufferable kings were non-existent. All but one arrow reached their targets – either head or where the heart would be – and the one missed mostly counted for an errant thought of certain dark eyes blazing in anger for her unladylike war-waging.

It was an Elven voice that distracted her from training after a while, when morning had already bloomed to its full glory. The voice was instantly recognisable as belonging to one of the Immortal, because Men never had voices so light and fair.

"You are very good", said the newcomer, and Lothíriel jumped around to see him. She nearly blurted out something defensive and rude, but then she took note of the Elf. It was none else than Prince Legolas of Woodland Realm... and if _he _considered you a good archer, then it was nothing but a compliment. She had heard of his skill, something that was deemed extraordinary even among Elven kind.

"Thank you, my lord", she said and made one of her better curtsies. She smiled weakly, "Though I must wonder... it doesn't seem to me that males usually appreciate it when females show their skill in war."

A fond smile, and slightly bittersweet, touched the ever-young face of Legolas.

"I have lived long enough to learn better, my lady. And to tell you the truth... one of the bravest fighters I have ever known was a woman of my own kind", he said gently. That made her eyes widen, as she had never heard of Elven women taking part in battle. She'd have asked more about this lady – whom she instantly liked for obvious reasons – but Legolas continued, "I do not believe we have been introduced. I am Legolas Thranduilion."

"Your reputation travels before you, my lord. I was rather hoping to meet you, as I've heard so many wonderful stories about you", she answered. With another curtsy, she introduced herself: "I'm Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."

That brought another smile to his face.

"Of course, I should have known. You share the grace of your father", he said softly and his expression suddenly became a bit odd, and he regarded her deeply; it felt like he was somehow inside her mind. A strange breathless feeling came to her and she couldn't say anything. Legolas spoke again, his voice not much more than a whisper, "May that grace remain with you through all the days of your life."

"I... thank you, my lord", she said, her voice coming out choked.

But now the Elf smiled again and the strange expression on his face disappeared.

"Please, call me Legolas. I am only Prince back in my own land", he said then. She answered the friendly smile with one of her own. This was actually the first time in her life she conversed with an elf, and she had to admit to being slightly surprised. She had always pictured them as distant, high people... full of sadness and wisdom, to the point where even their gladness spoke of ancient sorrows.

"That I'll do, but only if you call me Lothíriel in turn", she said. Then, seeing how pleasant this meeting was turning out to be, she encouraged herself and asked, "Could you perhaps show me your archery? It would be a great honour, and I would love to see the skill of a master."

"Of course, my friend. Would you mind borrowing me your bow? I didn't bring along my own", Legolas said, and readily she offered him her weapon... though she instantly felt kind of embarrassed too. Her bow, worn and much used, must seem like such a clumsy thing compared to the Elf's own. But if he thought so too it never showed.

What followed was perhaps the most fascinating battle instruction/performance she had ever seen. The absolute gracefulness of the Elf's movements was breathtaking and his skill something she could but dream of. Legolas made archery seem so effortless, like the arrow was following rather his mind than his hand. He missed no shots, yet he didn't seem like it took much concentration of him. When he asked her to shoot in turn, Lothíriel felt immensely clumsy and unskilled and she missed more shots than ever in her life. Legolas' face remained always friendly and he showed no sign that he might be amused by her attempts.

All in all it was perhaps the most fruitful session of her life, and over an hour went by... it was likely that they'd have spent the entire morning and afternoon in the middle of it, if not for Amrothos running to the scene like a pack of orcs was hunting him.

"Lothíriel! There you are! You must hurry, there is-" he breathlessly called, but didn't get to finish his sentence. Sharply she turned towards him and interrupted him.

"Amrothos, don't you see I'm busy?" she asked in frustration. She was everything but done here.

"And you're about to get even busier", Amrothos shot back, not paying any heed to her irritation. "Father has invited King Éomer for tea in less than an hour. You better hurry, because he means you should meet the Lord of Rohirrim."

* * *

Even after his adventures Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm deemed he'd never fully understand the Second-born. He had known plenty of them during his time, but whenever he felt he had finally figured them out, they'd do something to throw him off balance all over again.

The Men had a way of doing most wondrous and bewildering things... and he fully understood what it meant that they could operate outside the Great Music that decreed so much of what Elves could ever be.

But this also meant they were sometimes such a strange kin, and when Princess Lothíriel shrieked out at her brother's words, jumped in the air, and grabbed her bow, he felt truly confused and kind of startled. He hadn't known mortal women could produce such peculiar noises.

"I'm sorry, Legolas! I'll see you later, if I'm still alive!" she exclaimed and ran away, leaving behind a stupefied Elf wondering what on Arda was the matter.

The Second-born were so eccentric... and it was either the stroke of genius or madness on Ilúvatar's part that they existed.

* * *

The House of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth was something of a palace, deemed Éomer as he stopped before it to regard the town home of his friend. Built of the same white stone that made up the rest of the city, it was a beautiful sight but also sort of intimidating. Though he loved his home like any Eorling loved the Mark, sometimes this city of stone made Éomer feel particularly aware of how different his own land was from this place.

"Is something wrong?" asked Éothain then, distracting the young king from his thoughts. Ever since the Battle of Pelennor fields it had become apparent that he couldn't go anywhere without some guards following him, and even a visit to a friend's house warranted bringing men from his own éored. It seemed unnecessary and uncomfortable, but his captain at least wouldn't hear objections.

"All is well. Just thinking", Éomer answered then and they went forth. Imrahil's guards instantly opened the gate for them, as they recognised the King of Rohan, and one man hurried along to announce his arrival.

The invitation had come the very same morning. His friend had asked him to come and meet his family, and the Princess Lothíriel who had been absent last night. It touched the King, knowing Imrahil held him in such high regard that he'd want to introduce him to the whole family.

A servant was there to open the door for Éomer. Except for Éothain his guards would stay outside, probably to make friends with Imrahil's men – it was very unlikely that the Prince had any plans of committing a lese majesty, after all.

The house itself was every bit as grand as it had seemed from outside. The hall they passed through was light and spacious and there was beautifully carved furniture and even couple of statues, not unlike those he had seen in the Citadel. Beautiful it was but the Rohir felt like it was a house where you weren't supposed to touch anything.

Then Imrahil came striding to the hall, wearing a welcoming smile.

"There you are, my friend! I'm glad that you could come, though I sent the invitation on such a short notice", he said. Stopping on the front of the young king he gave a warm pat to Éomer's shoulder.

"I always have time for friends, Imrahil", he said, answering the smile with one of his own.

The Prince nodded at Éothain and then took a step back. He said, "Please, do come along. The rest of the family is already at the parlour – except for my daughter, that is. She's being remarkably slow this afternoon, but she'll join us soon."

"Of course", said said the King and followed his friend to an airy sitting room.

Imrahil's sons and daughter-in-law were already there, all of them seated except for Amrothos, who seemed slightly jittery for some reason. When the three men entered, they rose up to greet him. It was very easy to notice the family resemblance between the Prince and his sons: they all shared the same eyes and nose, and were of tall and slender build. Princess Aredhel seemed to grow smaller compared to them, but her appearance radiated nothing but serene mood. Seeing them gathered there they looked like they belonged together.

The Prince gestured the King to sit down, and the next quarter of an hour was spent in pleasant conversations. Mostly topics consisted of last night's celebrations, and then Aredhel asked of the Ride of the Rohirrim from the Mark.

"Lothíriel should be here – she'd love to hear of it as well. Of all the tales she's always loved this kind the most... odd thing for a princess, perhaps", Imrahil said then. He looked at his youngest son, "Would you go and see what is taking her so long? It's not too polite to keep our friend here waiting."

"I'll go", Amrothos said, his voice suddenly turning strained. He swiftly exited the room.

"So your daughter has a taste for an adventure?" asked Éomer then. A feeling of suspicion had come to him and he watched Imrahil very closely.

"Yes, one could say that. Sometimes I think she must be a fay's child, what with her wild ways..." said the Prince, smiling fondly. That did only increase the strange feeling – it had now grown into a kind of foreboding.

_Could she maybe...?_

But he did not get to dwell on that, because Amrothos had returned, and with him came a... a woman.

Well, her figure and clothing were of woman, but for some reason she had decided to wear a hideous-looking orange gown and what looked like every piece of jewellery she owned, and she had veiled her face from under her eyes. Even Éomer, someone who had recently got to witness many strange things, stared at her.

So did her family, except maybe for Erchirion. The King did not see his face but his snort was audible –and it was the only noise that penetrated the silence in the room.

"Well, Father, here I am!" said Princess Lothíriel in a shrill high-pitched voice, made a ridiculous little dance through the room, and tossed herself gracelessly into a chair.

"Daughter, what in the name of Elbereth are you wearing?" asked Imrahil. His voice was thin and though he controlled his face masterfully, Éomer could still see how embarrassed the man was. It made him want to disappear so that he wouldn't have to witness this awkward family moment.

"It's a veil, Father! There was this horrible pimple right in the middle of my nose, and I told myself that's not how you face a King, so I decide veils are in vogue, and-" simpered the girl. Still Éomer could but stare and wonder what precisely had made Imrahil say his daughter had wild ways. This princess was not wild – she was _mad. _

"Lothíriel, please, go and get changed. You are embarrassing all of us", Imrahil said in a pained voice.

"What? I think I look just wonderful and _so queenly_! What do you say, wouldn't this be the perfect attire for the masked ball tonight?" she asked. Before her father could comment anything to that, she turned to look at Éomer, who still sat silent and dumbfounded. With the veil it was hard to make out much of her – and her manners made it mostly unnecessary in his opinion – but there was one thing that moved him.

That thing was her eyes: bright, clear grey, and so spirited that momentarily he even forgot about her absurd appearance... and he felt he had no idea of what he was looking at.

However, she reminded him very quickly of _that. _

"Oh! My lord, what an honour it is to meet you at last! Father has been telling us so much of you, and I have so looked forward to this, and it is true you killed two mûmakil in the Battle of Pelennor fields? Could you show me some of your spear-throwing sometime? It sounds so dreamy!" she chattered away in an air-headed manner beyond anything he had ever witnessed. His mood fully sobered then, and he decided it was but a coincidence that she had _the same eyes, _and he gave her a stony look.

"Are you planning on hunting mûmakil?" he asked, keeping his voice steady but cool.

"That does sound nice, yes! Do you perchance know where I might-" started this insane princess, but then her brother Amrothos took her by hand.

"I think that's enough. Come along, sister", he said quietly, and the girl fell silent. Then, without a further comment, the prince escorted her out of the room.

* * *

They spoke no word on their way to her chamber; the only sound was the jingling of her jewellery. Lothíriel kept her eyes on the ground, and she wasn't sure she'd have been able to face Amrothos anyway... even though this was precisely what they had agreed to do.

The only way the King of Rohan would never pay attention to her again if he thought she was mad. Well, different mad than the archer woman he had seen in the woods of Ithilien. And if she had been able to read the man at all, it was obvious she had succeeded.

When at last they got to her room Lothíriel more or less ripped away the silly veil from her face and fell to sit on the edge of the bed. Father would be _so angry. _But perhaps it was worth his wrath.

And yet... it didn't feel like that. She didn't know why that was. Things had worked out exactly as she had hoped, but it didn't bring her any relief. Instead, all she could see was two dark eyes staring at her: first in confusion, then in distaste. And then it had cracked, and from beneath that offence she had seen... something... something...

Something _so real. _

Amrothos sat beside her and lay a hand on her shoulder.

"That was bad", he murmured. She knew exactly what he meant.

"I know", Lothíriel answered in a weak voice. And then she burst in tears.

* * *

Though Imrahil had made his best efforts to apologise for the behaviour of his daughter, the rest of the visit had still been awkward, and as soon as it was polite Éomer had excused himself. They had started back for the Citadel, and Éothain had known not to say anything as the young king mulled over what had taken place in his friend's parlour.

Princess Lothíriel was... he didn't even know what she was. And yet it made no sense! How could Imrahil have children like that? There was Amrothos, granted, but his cheerful attitude was nothing compared to the show she had put up. Unless she was touched in the head. But then, the Prince had certainly not seemed like _that _was normal for his daughter.

Did it have something to do with Éomer himself, then? No, that was not possible. After all, he hadn't met the girl before...

By the time he had come to this conclusion they had already reached the Citadel, and he was distracted from his thoughts by the sight of his sister approaching. She had been out walking with Faramir, and both of them looked so blissfully happy that he couldn't help a pang of jealousy, petty as that was.

"Brother! I was hoping I might catch you. Did you have pleasant time with Prince Imrahil's family?" Éowyn asked, smiling at him brightly.

"I... it was very interesting", Éomer answered reluctantly. That turned his sister's expression sober and made Faramir raise his eyebrows.

"What did Amrothos do this time? Or was it Lothíriel?" he asked.

"It's nothing", said the young king and looked away. When he turned again towards the happy couple, he could see the glance they shared – already they reminded him of a long-married couple who knew what the other was thinking of just by looking at their face.

"Well, then, would you like to come with me? I've got something for you", Éowyn said, breaking the silence. She was smiling again, though he had a feeling this was a matter she'd closely reflect on later, either alone or with Faramir.

"Whatever you want, sister", Éomer replied, even managing a smile for her.

She gave a kiss to Faramir and promised to see him later, and then she linked her arm with her brother's, and the two of them started for the palace.

"What is it then, sister?" he asked as they strolled inside.

"You know there's a masked ball tonight here tonight?" she asked back.

"Aye, but I have yet to learn what do the masks have anything to do with balls", he answered, frowning to himself. The concept didn't seem to bear any sense. Éowyn chortled.

"Apparently it is a form of celebration. It's like any ball – everyone just wears masks", she explained.

"Where am I supposed to get a mask now?" he inquired. Perhaps he wouldn't have to attend if he didn't have proper attire for the ball?

"Don't worry. I've already arranged everything. I told them to bring your clothes to your chamber – it should be there waiting for you", she answered.

He processed this information in silence for a while, with questions filling his mind. It did not seem to make much sense.

Indeed, upon entering his chambers (which consisted of four entire rooms!), a completely new outfit accompanied by a mask was there waiting for him on a stand. It was the usual green, and mask had some very elaborate golden decorations.

At the sight of clothes, he could but stand back in silence for a moment, and stare at the compilation of clothes and especially the mask. Éomer found himself loss at words. Gondorians!

"How did you come by this?" he asked at last, which made his sister grin.

"I pulled some strings. Faramir knows this fellow, who knows a fellow... you know how it goes. It doesn't matter. The point is that you're going to look amazing, brother, and ladies will swoon all over your feet", she said cheerfully. He snorted as an answer and quietly entertained the possibility that his sister too had started to lose her mind.

"This is ridiculous", he said then as he regarded the attire before him.

"No, it's not. I hear masked balls are very fashionable – Faramir says they used to have them all the time when his mother Lady Finduilas still lived. And you're going to wear this even if it kills you", Éowyn said patiently.

"But why do I have to wear a mask? It doesn't even hide my face properly! What is the point of such a thing?" Éomer complained, picking up the mask and turning it around in his hands. He had never seen a more foolish garment.

"You're not supposed to go unknown, brother. And I doubt you could conceal your identity anyway, even if you tried", she told him.

"That doesn't make any sense", he pointed out in frustration. This Gondorian court life was truly bewildering; mad noblewomen, masked balls... he wondered whose idea such an insane way of feast had even been.

Éowyn considered him, sighed, and shook her head – a look he knew well.

"I suppose if would be waste of time to try and explain", she muttered. "Just play along, brother, will you? And keep your notions to yourself."

"What do you take me for, Éowyn? I am capable if behaving myself when need be", Éomer said defensively.

"You should really consider finding a wife here in Mundburg. She could explain you these things", said his sister. He refrained from making comments on how a Gondorian wife was currently the last thing he wanted.

"I'm not sure I really want to know", he muttered and put away the mask. He frowned, "which begs me to ask why you are telling me any of this. I didn't think you were one for great balls like this."

That brought another grin to her face, smoothing away that look she always wore when she was being patient with him.

"Oh, it's not my idea. Faramir was the one to ask me to make sure you'd appear in proper attire. It's for the ladies, of course", she said, sitting down by the window and to observe him.

"Why would he be concerned about that?" asked the young King. Éowyn shrugged.

"Probably for my sake. One day, perhaps not so far in the future now, I'm going to leave the Mark. And if you remain alone and without a family around you to drive you insane, I'm just going to worry about you all the time", she said, her voice turning soft now.

Éomer did not know how to answer that. Though he was happy for his sister finding this new light to her life, he did also know it would not be easy to watch her go. After all, she was the only family he had left.

She probably read it from his face or otherwise knew what he thought, for her expression became gentle, and she stood up; then she lay a hand on his shoulder. Searching his face, Éowyn seemed very concerned.

"If you wish me to stay-" she started, but he quickly disrupted her.

"Don't be foolish, sister. I want you to be happy, even if it means leaving Rohan", he told her firmly. A slight smile touched her face, though tears glistened now in her eyes. She gave him a tight hug.

"I just need to know you'll be all right, brother", Éowyn murmured.

"And I will be, sister. Have you ever known me to not be all right?" he asked her gently. She sniffled but smiled anyway.

"I could name some instances. But I agree you have a way of enduring things. I'm not sure even I'm as resilient as you", she said and wiped a hand across her eyes. He gave her a snort he hoped came out as light-hearted, as he wanted to cheer up her.

"Now that is not true, Éowyn. I am fairly convinced I'd never have lived through things you have faced", he told her.

His dear sister seemed to be unable to answer. Instead, she just hugged him again.

"Even if I'm leaving Rohan you can always count on me to be there for you, if you need me", she whispered to him and pulled back. Éowyn smiled, "Because who else is ever going to put up with you, brother?"

He rolled his eyes at her... but the truth was she _had _somehow managed to cheer him up just as well.

Oh, he was going to miss her so much.

* * *

After a long and thorough scolding Father had told Lothíriel it would be for the better if she didn't join the family for the masked ball tonight. By then he had been mostly just tired and sad and it had broken her heart to see her dear father like that. Quietly she had apologised for her show earlier that day, but Father had not said "it was all right."

That was the truth: it wasn't all right what she had done. And Father had been absolutely right in telling her she had behaved more horribly than a battalion of orcs. Ashamed, she had sat through it, enduring every sharp word and then the cold disappointment. Silently she had begun to wonder if what she had done was really worth it.

Now evening was falling, and sat on the edge of her bed she listened to the noises of her family as they prepared to leave for the masked ball. Those had always been her favourites when it came to the court gatherings. There was something about masks and wearing them, like she could put away herself and be someone else for a night.

She thought of the King of Rohan then. From her window she had seen him exiting the house, and though she hadn't seen his face, Lothíriel had noticed how tense his figure was. The reason for that was not lost on her, and she had felt deep self-loathing for upsetting him. After all, it wasn't like he deserved it. All he had done was get caught in some stupid situations with her, and fault was mostly hers for being... being such a stubborn idiot.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Aredhel as she peeked in her chamber. The older woman seemed slightly concerned when she saw that Lothíriel sat there in the middle of darkness.

"Is everything... do you need something, sister?" she asked gently.

"I'm fine", mumbled the princess. "Go ahead and have a great night."

Aredhel regarded her in silence, her hazel eyes gentle and compassionate. Unlike Father, she sensed there was more to what had happened earlier. But she also recognised Lothíriel was not on the mood to speak about it.

"We're going to leave in a moment. I could stay with you, if you-" she offered, but Lothíriel interrupted her before she could finish the sentence.

"No, no. I've ruined enough things for the day", she said quickly. Then, after a moment of hesitation, she continued, "If you see the King of Rohan tonight, tell him I'm sorry."

A small smile touched the face of her sister-in-law. Aredhel spoke softly, "I will do that. Good night, sister."

"Good night", Lothíriel answered. The other woman closed the door and she could hear voices talking, and then falling away, and she was left alone in a big quiet house.

_King of Rohan... _suddenly, she felt somehow worried for the man. What if her monstrous conduct had caused bad things? What if he wanted nothing more to do with the people of Gondor, and he'd leave the city, and all good things that could have come out of this would not take place? And most importantly, was he all right?

She had to know. She needed to see him, if only from afar, and make sure her behaviour did not have some catastrophic consequences. No one had to know she was there: she'd just very briefly visit the ball, find out if the King of Rohan was very upset, and then she'd sneak out before anyone had time to recognise her. Father would never have to know of it and this time she'd make sure the horselord didn't notice her either.

Yes, it was perfect. And tomorrow she'd behave better, perhaps even travel back to Dol Amroth to make sure she caused no more havoc among her father's friends.

Her energy and mood restored, Lothíriel jumped up on her feet and dashed to find her maidservant Bainiel. This would require some magic, and Bainiel was just the sorceress to perform it.

* * *

Éomer, King of the Mark, felt ridiculous when he joined the great masked ball. Like he had told his sister the whole concept of wearing masks seemed inane to him, but he had promised her he'd do this, and so he made sure one more time that the mask was safely on place.

Upon entering he examined the crowd and noticed that green was apparently in vogue. Looking around he saw ladies dressed in gowns more and more rich, but on the other hand the idea of masked ball appeared also to contain the idea of extravagance that defied the borders of imagination and sanity. Dryly he mused that the Princess of Dol Amroth would have fitted in just fine with her orange gown and veil.

He quickly made his way towards where Aragorn was chatting away with Faramir. The two men smiled at him as he joined the company; after exchanging greetings the Steward excused himself, as he had something he needed to talk of with Imrahil.

"Éowyn tells me you were not too excited about this masked ball, brother", Aragorn said then. Éomer gave him an uneasy smile.

"I had difficulty understanding the point of masks, yes. Please don't tell me it was your idea and I have just offended you", he replied awkwardly. To his relief Aragorn just smiled.

"No, not at all. Most of the blame goes to Faramir, I suppose... but then, he says he was very much pressured into this by certain parties when he was preparing things for our return", said the older man softly. "As far as I understand, these were considered very delightful back in the more peaceful times."

He sighed then, "But I do understand your position, brother. We both have seen too many masks, and worn them to our hearts' content."

"It's all right. I was merely being foolish when I complained to Éowyn. It's just a ball in the end", answered the Rohir quietly. A servant stopped by them and offered glasses of wine, which they both accepted readily. After taking a sip of the drink he continued, "One could say I was not on the best mood when I was informed of this."

"Is everything fine now at least?" Aragorn inquired softly. The man seemed to think all things were his concern, especially if he suspected his friends were having trouble.

"It's all right, brother", Éomer reassured his friend. The matter of Princess of Dol Amroth was not really something he wanted to discuss. Not now, at least.

Fortunately Elfhelm arrived then and joined the two kings, and thoughts of unpleasant encounters were pushed aside. Apparently Éowyn had found attire for Elfhelm too, and the Marshal seemed far more comfortable in his mask than Éomer himself felt. The man had gone as far as making some elaborate braids in his hair and the King suspected he'd be receiving his own share of female attention tonight.

"My lords, there you are. I almost didn't recognise you", Elfhelm said good-humouredly. Aragorn laughed at his words.

"My good Marshal, of all the guests present you and your king are least likely to go unknown", he commented lightly.

"Hmm. Perhaps we should dye our hair", Elfhelm suggested.

"You would look ludicrous", Éomer put in, which made his Marshal lift his eyebrows.

"And you wouldn't, Sire?" he asked.

"Of course not. I would be gorgeous", answered the young king nonchalantly; jesting was always so effortless with the good-natured Marshal. Elfhelm chortled.

"You would look like Théodred. And everyone would think he had risen from the grave, and wherever you went people would run away screaming", he shot back.

It was good that it was Aragorn witnessing this conversation and not someone else. For one, he had spent much time in Rohan when he had served Thengel King as Thorongil, and so he knew that this kind of speech was not disrespect for the late Crown Prince or disregard for grief caused by his passing. This was just the way Eorlingas remembered their dead: with love and laughter and smiles, and in the mind of the Rohirrim it did not undermine the severity of loss.

"I look nothing like Théodred, Elfhelm, and if you continue to insist so I will assume that you have made too many dives into barrels of ale", Éomer said, which made both his friends chuckle.

After a while a servant came to speak of something with Aragorn and he excused himself, leaving the two Rohirs to their own devices. Dancing had now begun in the hall, and for a while they observed the couples twirling and moving gracefully on the floor.

"Well", Elfhelm commented then, "this all is something I haven't seen before."

"It is fairly odd, yes. Gondorian court life continues to bemuse me", answered the young king, at which the Marshal made a noise of agreement. He glanced at his friend, "Truthfully I'd rather sneak out and find something more Rohirric."

"Oh, I know. The lads told me there's a celebration down at our camp tonight. Imagine all that ale and music and dancing", Elfhelm said and both men sighed wistfully at the same time. As inviting as the idea was, Éomer knew he couldn't just go like that. He had a feeling he'd regret being the king many times yet, but for the moment the part he felt most frustrated with was precisely how he was required to formally represent the Rohirrim here. Oh, how easy had been the life as a Marshal!

"Perhaps we can make an escape later on. The King should also pay attention to his subjects, don't you think?" he commented to Elfhelm, who nodded emphatically.

"Aye, Sire. The men need to see their leader participating their life in all things", he agreed.

"Elfhelm, do you think..." Éomer started, but suddenly his eyes found a figure he had not expected to see, and he fell silent.

He knew her from the way she moved. That was odd, considering he had only seen her two times before now. And yet the way she carried herself, her straight and smooth posture, was something he recognised right away. Her hair was dark, plainly braided, and though she had hidden her face behind a mask there was no doubt of who she was.

The archer woman had come again... and this time, she hadn't seen him.

"Who's that?" Elfhelm asked – he had noticed how his king stared.

"I'm not sure", Éomer answered truthfully, "But I'm going to ask her for a dance."

When he started for the Lady Archer, he heard Elfhelm exclaim behind him: "But you don't even know how to dance!"

* * *

Lothíriel had never gotten ready for a ball as fast as she did that night. Well, most of the credit went to Bainiel anyway, because the maidservant was very efficient and good at what she did (she'd need a raise in salary, Lothíriel had decided). Getting to the Citadel had been fairly easy as well, and as the hall of Merethrond was already full of people she could sneak in without much notice.

Seeing the masked crowd, all wearing their most extravagant clothing, she felt a faint rush of excitement. Ordinary balls were one thing, but masks always made it so... she couldn't name it really. She had to rein in her enthusiasm, though: she hadn't come here to celebrate or dance.

A quick look about confirmed her family was safely far from her, chatting away with some friends and relatives, but she couldn't spot the King of Rohan anywhere. That made her feel uneasy as she strolled through the crowd. Was that her fault? Had he refused to join the night's gathering? What if he had already left the city!

Worry was growing inside her heart when suddenly a voice called her from her right side: "Lady Archer. I am glad to see that you decided to attend."

The familiar rich tones of the voice of King Éomer of Rohan nearly had her jumping and yelling in surprise. Sharply she turned to look at him.

In all honesty, the man did look rather fetching. The green of his coat became him very well – good for him, considering it was the colour of his land – and the garment flattered his tall powerful build. Even in the middle of this green-clothed crowd, he stood out, and it was not just his height or the gold of his hair. This King of Rohan had somehow a very loud presence, the kind that demanded one's attention even if he was quiet.

And the way he looked at her, with one corner of his mouth lifted in a barely suppressed half-smile and his eyes glinting, reassured her that he really hadn't made the connection between her and the ludicrous orange-wearing orc of a girl he had met before this same day.

"May I have this dance?" he asked then; before Lothíriel could really think, she had already placed her hand in his. She told herself that was because she didn't want him to have a completely beastly image of her.

"Just one dance then, Sire", she mumbled as they joined the other dancers. His fingers against hers were strong and warm and calloused, and with some wonderment she realised this was the first time she touched him.

"Sire?" he wondered out loud, "There's a change at least. I was rather expecting you'd call me names again."

Lothíriel felt her cheeks warming up with embarrassment. What an insufferable man!

"I can do that, my lord, if you'd prefer more colourful names", she said, lifting up her chin. She'd be damned if she let this man get to her.

"I'm almost tempted to find out just how far your vocabulary goes", he answered lightly. They twirled around – kind of clumsily, as he wasn't any better dancer than she was, and she suspected they looked kind of silly – and he gave her a pensive look then, "But I must say, this is quite a change to your earlier attire. Where are your breeches and your bow?"

"Oh, I'm not the only one who has changed attires, your kingship. I'm wearing a gown for the same reason you're not naked now", she shot back before she could hold her tongue. The man looked at her astonishment and then burst out laughing, which bewildered her; she'd have expected him to be offended by such a bold and shameless statement. Why could she first offend him by acting like she had before, and then appear here and find that equally rampant speech and behaviour only made him laugh? This man made no sense at all!

"You are a precious woman, Lady Archer. Deranged, but precious", he commented lightly and she had no idea of what to say to that. She concentrated on dancing for a bit and almost fell, but he steadied her and she mumbled thanks.

"To answer your question: I'm in disguise, Sire", she informed him. That too seemed to amuse him and he chortled.

"Is that so?" he commented. His hands briefly touched hers as they twirled around again, and she noted how steady those fingers of his felt like. It distracted her from the fact that by now neither of them had any idea of the dance anymore, and were likely doing a performance of their own.

He continued, "I see you favour green as well."

Not bothering to wonder about what he might have meant by that, Lothíriel just shrugged.

"Like I said, I'm in a disguise", she said. "I was trying to blend in."

That seemed to surprise him.

"Really? All the ladies I've encountered tonight have done their utmost to stand out. You're most unusual young woman... but then, I suppose I shouldn't expect Gondorian servants to be like their nobility", he said, which had her looking at him in confusion.

"Servants?" she repeated. What was the King talking about now?

"You are a servant, aren't you?" he asked. "Wearing the gown of your mistress and sneaked into a great ball?"

"Why would you think so?" Lothíriel asked carefully.

"Well, you're nothing like the noble women I've met so far. All they ever talk of is idle pleasantries, and I doubt they'd know even half of the words you screamed at me on that night in the woods. You know how to ride and how to use a bow, which doesn't seem like a part of formal education for a noble lady. And your hands – they're not as soft and smooth like those of the ladies here", he answered.

What should she tell this man? Should she let him believe she indeed was a servant, and thus dismiss her behaviour as that of an uncultured commoner? Or tell him the truth and potentially insult him even more than she already had? Oh, if Father had not been disappointed in her before, he'd surely be furious if he heard of this!

"Perhaps that is a disguise as well", she said at last. Lies were just as bad as the possibility of insulting the King. They said the Rohirrim did not appreciate dishonesty... and their Lord in particular had the reputation of a quick-tempered man – something she had witnessed first hand. He wouldn't try to throw her out of window if he learned the truth, would he?

"You're all disguises then, my lady? Tell me, what is the real you?" he asked. He was studying her very intently now, and looking a bit like he could just barely concentrate on even keeping up a façade of a dance.

"That was precisely what I was hoping to hide from you, Sire", she blurted out, though she knew that was not the wisest thing to say, and it would do nothing to get him off her back. But something about this man was stealing her of her guard.

He wasn't at all like she'd have thought a King would be.

Indeed, her words seemed to only fuel him. He was moving closer to her now and there was a fire in his dark, vivid eyes. _Oh dear._ What had she done?

"Why would you want to hide from me?" he asked, his voice lower this time. His eyes burned her with their intensity and Lothíriel felt strangely breathless.

"Because..." she began, not sure how to finish that sentence. So, again she blurted out just the worst thing she could have said: "Because of that look you're giving me, Sire."

His dark eyes widened just a little bit behind the mask, and if possible, the fire in them burned even more intense. Oh, Elbereth! She and her big mouth! Some day, it would get her killed.

"Servant or no, I'd like to hear your name", he informed her.

"No", Lothíriel said quickly. Looking around for a way of escape, she spotted Amrothos on the other side of the crowd. She'd have liked to shout for him, but she wasn't sure he'd have heard her, and anyway the King of Rohan would probably have put together two and two and realised who she was.

"I beg of you, tell me who you are. A lady? A servant? An apparition or an elf?" demanded the King more forcibly now.

"Perhaps I'm all of them", she said, trying to play some time.

But the song came to an end then and the dancers around them halted; Lothíriel knew now was as good as time as any for her to make an escape.

"Who are you?" asked the King one more time.

"Just a girl in a mask, Sire. Let us leave it at that, because I'm not sure you'd like the real me", she said.

He saw it coming and tried to grab her hand, but Lothíriel was faster than him; she dashed away beyond his reach and immediately headed for the double doors leading outside into the garden. From between two young ladies, under the extended arm of a vassal of her father, through a group of five high lords conversing... from behind, she heard his voice: "Make way!"

The cool evening air hit her face. There was the scent of spring in it and the garden was very beautiful, but she did not waste time admiring her surroundings. Instead the princess practically dived behind one particularly large bush and held her breath.

The King of Rohan appeared only seconds later. The look on his face was kind of feverish when he halted and scanned his surroundings... trying to see her. She very nearly called out then, like an impulse told her. But Lothíriel remained silent.

_He is a king. He can't be my... _

"Is something amiss, my friend?" spoke a voice, interrupting her wildly racing thoughts. It was King Elessar, who had been out in the garden as well and now approached the tall golden-haired man.

"Did you see a young woman in green run outside?" asked the King of Rohan, and hope coloured his voice. Lothíriel nearly cursed out loud, and she had to bite her fist to keep quiet. _Don't let him see me..._

"I didn't see anyone, though I thought I heard someone run out. Did something happen?" asked the King of Gondor.

The hopeful look on the Rohir's face died and he seemed to lose some of the great force of his presence.

"I just managed to scare away one woman whose presence I've enjoyed since coming here", he said, shaking his head.

_Hmph. You didn't scare me. I just don't know what to do with you. _

The King of Rohan truly was a bewildering man.

* * *

**A/N: **Hahahaha, _guess what I did last night. _

Good part was indeed spent in writing (damn you, my crazy muse), but truthfully speaking I did have parts of this chapter ready when I started to fill in the gaps. Here's at last some proper interaction between Éomer and Lothíriel, hopefully you like it!

So, our stubborn princess has understood she can't avoid meeting Éomer officially, and here in this chapter you see her solution to that problem. I would like to emphasize the fact that it's something she comes up with very quickly in panic, and though it appears to be rather effective it also leaves her feeling really bad. Perhaps she doesn't realise it herself but the King of Rohan has already her under his spell...

As you can see, I also added a scene where Lothíriel meets Legolas. That was necessary for several reasons actually. Maybe you noticed that I sneaked in a reference to Tauriel (the female warrior elf in the upcoming Hobbit movie), with whom Legolas appears to have a good relationship. I know Peter Jackson's adaptations are a controversial topic among the fans, and I respect your opinion if you consider Tauriel an unnecessary addition. However, I must say personally I'm excited to see what they're going to do with her character, and I seriously hope she's going to be something amazing. But no worries, this is not going to turn into a Hobbit fanfic! :D

Also I added some musings of Legolas himself, because I think he'd find Lothíriel's reaction to Amrothos' news strange. And at least I find the idea of Elvish confusion at Mannish activities pretty entertaining. :D Anyway, I do believe it is canon that Men have greater control over their own fates - that because they're not tied to the destiny of Arda they can operate outside the Great Music (_Ainulindalë_ that is) and I enjoy scenes and outcomes of that fact which take Elves aback.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

Quote in the beginning originally by William Shakespeare in "Hamlet".

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**Sandy-wmd - **And that was only just the beginning!

**Kiiimberly - **His reaction indeed was not the best one... but then again, he still has to make the connection between the archer and the princess in orange. And yes, Lothíriel's actions have not been the wisest kind, but at this point of her life she _isn't _a wise person. And Éomer doesn't help it, I must say. ;)

**Talia119 - **Does this chapter answer to your inquiries at all? :D I hope you like the chapter!

Oh, I know that feeling. Before I used to think the same, but I've found that just publishing the story as one writes it also puts on you this kind of pressure to get the next chapter done too. And having such an amazing readers like I have helps too! :)


	5. Chapter 4

"Oft a battleground is found in one's heart, and casualties are not the dead and the dying, but the lies that we tell ourselves; but sometimes their death is the slow waning of an injured man." - Queen Melannen of Gondor, consort of King Turambar

* * *

**Chapter 4**

The last night's ball had left Éomer with peculiar mood. On one hand, he had been disappointed to see the Lady Archer disappear so... but on the other hand the reunion, no matter how brief, had restored his hope. Perhaps he'd find her again when he least expected it?

Nevertheless, upon returning to the ball with Aragorn he had wondered just who she was, and so he had asked one elderly courtier if she had known the strange woman. Perhaps a more experienced member of nobility might even know her, if she _was _a lady?

However, inquiries had proved uninformative: "Oh, my lord, there's just so many new faces here in the city, and those masks don't help at all with the recognition. You see, the court life was almost non-existent during the past few years, and many young and fresh faces now have taken the place of those who are gone..."

Well, he would find her again, and he'd solve the mystery of this strange woman even if it was the end of him.

On the morrow he had other concerns than peculiar ladies, however. Just as Elfhelm had ever since the Host had departed for Morannon, he rode down to the fields of Pelennor, where the Rohirrim were camped for the time being. They even had a tent for him there, though because of Aragorn's insistence he lodged in the palace. Tent had its uses, though: it served as something as a centre of command and every morning he'd receive reports from the captains of each éored. They would inform him of the happenings in the camp, like brawls and injured and the needs of the men and horses. Usually nothing severe rose and Elfhelm had offered he could take care of the matter, but Éomer had told his Marshal that if he was going to be a king he ought to know what was going on among his men. That was, after all, what Uncle would have done.

The reports that day were mostly ordinary. Though there had been quite a few parties in the camp major fights had not broken out and men remained ingood spirits. They were still drunk on the victory, and the city offered enough entertainment for them for the time being. The young king did emphasize to the captains of éoreds that they keep up peace and make sure that Riders did not cause trouble in the city.

Lord Erkenband had sent as many men as he could as well, and those were commanded by the Captain Feran. He was a distant relative of Éomer's and was of Eorling nobility, though he wasn't considered a member of the House of Eorl. The captain was descended from Folcwine King's sister's daughter and his fathers had served under the Lords of Hornburg since Thengel had become king. Though his reports did not vary much from those other captains gave, Éomer's attention was engaged by something about the man, though he didn't know what that was. Feran was as any man of the Mark: tall and strong, with very light hair and reddish beard. He was what women would have considered fair to look upon with his even features and easy smiles.

When the captains had gone and the King was left with his Marshal, Éomer turned to look at Elfhelm.

"What do you make of Feran, my friend?" he asked. If receiving reports had taught him something so far, it was that he should learn to know his Riders better... especially those who lead them. In that, being the King was similar to being the Marshal.

Elfhelm considered the question in silence for a while before he spoke, which was telling at least. When he spoke, it was carefully.

"He's a good rider and a good captain. He gets things done", he replied. Éomer gestured towards the other chair in the tent –in gatherings such as the one before it was given that only the King would be seated –and his friend sat down.

"And what kind of a man do you take him for?" he inquired then.

"In my own opinion? I can't say, as I don't know him that well", Elfhelm said at length. Then after a moment of hesitation, he continued in a slightly quieter voice, "But I know Erkenbrand doesn't like Feran too much."

"Why is that?" asked the King of Rohan.

"You remember the stories about Fengel King's time? And of people he surrounded himself with?" asked back his Marshal, looking slightly troubled now.

"Of course I do. What of it?" Éomer wondered. How could he not remember Fengel? Though the man had died over 50 years ago, the memories of his rule persisted. His greed and malice had nearly ruined the realm and it had sent his son Thengel away from Rohan... the Prince had lived in Gondor until the death of Fengel, and returned to claim his throne only very reluctantly.

"Feran's great-grandfather was one of Fengel's favourites – almost as bad as the King himself. Erkenbrand seems to think Feran takes after him too much. And..." Elfhelm spoke, but then fell silent in the middle of his sentence. That made his king frown.

"And what?" asked Éomer, studying the face of the Marshal attentively.

"I shouldn't speak ill of a man I don't know myself. It is not right", said his friend awkwardly.

"Elfhelm, you can tell me. Though I must consider the matter as the King I would want you to speak to me as a friend", he coaxed in a softer tone. The other man sighed and gave a nod to the young king.

"All right. Just so you remember I do not know if it is true, and that Erkenbrand might not be right... anyway, what he told me after the Battle of Helm's Deep was that Feran's line would not have grieved to see you die in that fight – that they'd have tried to claim the kingship after Théoden", Elfhelm said quietly.

Éomer's first instinct was to argue that did not make too much sense, considering Éowyn would have been Uncle's obvious choice in that case, and anyway he hadn't ever heard that such thoughts lived in the minds of those whose claim to the throne was almost non-existent. But perhaps that was just the point – maybe Erkenbrand had made a wrong judgement. That was not like the man, however...

Altogether it sounded like it would be wise to keep an eye on Feran, just to make sure. The last thing Rohan needed right now was civil unrest.

"I see", he spoke at last. "Thank you for telling me, Elfhelm."

That brought a slight smile to the other man's face.

"Well, you _are _the King. And you should know what happens in your realm", he said.

"Aye, that is true", Éomer agreed softly. Resting his chin on his hand, he let out a sigh, "It's not going to be easy, is it?"

"No, I suppose not. The Mark has suffered much and there are many wounds that need healing", allowed his friend in a compassionate voice, seeing right into what he meant. Then Elfhelm's smile widened, "But you will do just fine. I know it. And you can count on your men. Your own Riders have always respected and loved you, and I am sure all Eorlingas will share the sentiment."

That did make the young king feel a bit better. He gave a half-smile to the Marshal.

"Thank you, my friend. I appreciate your words, though I have a feeling I'll be needing more than just the love of the people. And that is good men, like yourself", he said.

"Just be a king we can love, and good men will flock to you", Elfhelm replied simply.

Outside the tent they were joined by Éothain and some guards, and the King and his men made a walk through the camp. Though those words had mostly been spoken in jest last night, it wasn't untrue that a king should attend to his people, and anyway it was pleasant to see some Rohirric faces for change. The sound of their tongue was welcome too, and as the young king passed through the camp he exchanged greetings with some of the riders and asked if they were faring well. They appeared to be light-heartedly curious about their new king, for which he could hardly blame them.

It was midday that they turned back towards the city; Éomer had been thinking of taking a look at the markets of the city, as he was for change having afternoon clear of any social engagements. He took along but few of his men, because flooding the square with his guards didn't seem like such a brilliant idea.

Arriving to the markets and perceiving the busy comings and goings of it he was reminded of how quiet and empty the city had been when he had first entered the city after the Battle of Pelennor fields. But since then people had returned, and now there was new kind of bustling there: just the presence of Aragorn seemed to have brought new prosperity here.

The King and his escort didn't even earn any curious looks, which was likely thanks to the Rohirric presence in the immediate vicinity of the city. Fair-haired riders were not an uncommon sight these days, and evidently to the common folk his face was not so recognisable either (which could also be for the fact that he was not wearing his armour, which had a rather distinctive look).

But long didn't this outing go, for after a while of strolling in the crowd and occasionally taking a look on goods presented on stands he eventually arrived to where some tanners and blacksmiths were selling their products... and there, by one stand, he saw _her. _

_What were the odds?_

* * *

As the day was nice and pleasant Lothíriel had decided to go down to the markets and take a look around for new reins for her horse. The old ones were starting to fall apart, and the task of buying replacement was also a good reason to get out of the house. Father was still disapproving of her and all through the breakfast he had given her frowning looks, but at least it didn't seem like he knew she had sneaked into the ball last night anyway.

Fortunately she had got away without gaining any more notice than she had already received from the King of Rohan (Amrothos didn't count), though she did wonder what was the day's gossip about the man's dancing habits. Her brother eventually enlightened her on that matter and said ladies were very curious about who was the stranger to have so caught the King's eye that he'd even ask her to dance. Apparently Amrothos had recognised her right away and it had been necessary for him to exit the celebration for a while just to laugh to himself for a bit. Lothíriel wasn't sure what was so funny about it.

But now she was having other concerns, and by the tanner's stand she was taking a look on the reins he had made. It was then that the fates threw at her another unexpected encounter.

"I wouldn't buy those if I were you", spoke a voice from behind her shoulder, and she turned to see none other than the King of Rohan standing there, wearing a charming smile. What was it about this man that always made him find her?

"Oh, why would that be?" she asked, deciding not to act surprised that he was there.

"That bit part of the reins – it looks like it would be uncomfortable for your horse", said the King.

"Excuse me, but my reins are perfectly good!" said the tanner with some indignation; the horselord merely answered him with a pointed look. The man got the point quickly enough and went away muttering, evidently to serve other customers.

"Look at what you did now. You scared away the poor fellow – it'll be a wonder if he ever sells me anything", Lothíriel scolded the Rohir, who was inspecting other goods on the stand.

"You shouldn't pay for such sloppy work anyway", he said nonchalantly. He smiled then, "And in an exchange for a name I could provide you with the best reins you and your horse could ever hope for."

"Naturally", she said and made a face at him. As she turned from the stand, towards no direction in particular, he followed her. Of course he wouldn't let her leave just so... maybe she should kick him.

"I was sad to see you go like that last night. I'd have asked at least for one more dance", he said then,adjusting his long stride to a pace to keep up her side. A swift gesture towards his guards had the men falling back, obviously to give them some privacy. The command appeared to come most naturally of this King of Rohan, and she remembered hearing he had served as a Marshal before the death of Théoden King. That was, as far as she understood, an important thing in the Rohirric society.

"Well, it was starting to get a bit, hmm, intense", she said awkwardly after weighing her words for a moment. She continued in a slightly lighter tone, "And I believed we had insulted people's sensitivities enough with our so called dancing."

"So called dancing indeed. You, my Lady Archer, should be introduced some Rohirric dancing", he informed her. Then he turned his gaze at her and gave the princess an appealing, wide-eyed look.

"Could you perhaps tell me your name?" asked the Rohir. Lothíriel groaned; of course she should have known he wouldn't stop asking. Why did he have to be so damned stubborn?!

"My father sometimes calls me Garafiell. It means Little Wolf", she said at length. That wasn't likely to lead the King on the right tracks, was it?

"So your father too agrees you're a wild beast?" he asked jovially.

"Yes, and sometimes he encourages it even. Especially against pig-headed Rohirrim", she shot back. But that only made the King smile and she wondered what kind of talk would it even take to scare him away.

And yet... did she want him gone, then? That was starting to turn out a very, very good question.

"What kind of a father is he, then? If he is a lord, why has he allowed his daughter to learn the skills of war?" asked the horselord. He kept glancing at her as if he couldn't quite get enough of seeing her face.

"My father is- oh, wait a minute. I'm so not going to tell you about my father", Lothíriel answered and made a face at him.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because if I answer your question, it would confirm whether I'm of a noble family, and that would help you to narrow down the amount of men you need to bully into presenting you with their daughters", she answered. He sighed dramatically but there was a glint in his eyes that revealed he was enjoying this banter. And... looking at him, she realised she enjoyed it too. That she could be so straight-forward and blunt and shameless with this man was not something she was used to, but it felt actually very good.

"You see right through me, don't you?" he asked. Lothíriel snorted.

"You're very transparent, Sire", she told him. Her words made him laugh and the rich sound of it made her shiver for a reason she could not name.

They had strolled through the crowd, not paying much attention to other people, and Lothíriel wasn't even sure where they were walking. But now she shook herself and tore away her focus from the man beside herself; apparently he didn't only have a way of finding her but also of distracting her.

"Tell me at least if you live here in the city. Do you have family here?" he inquired then, re-engaging her attention.

"I really shouldn't tell you anything. You're just going to use all information to find out who I am", she said carefully. That brought a frown on his face.

"You make me sound like something sly and scheming, Garafiell", said the King with some displeasure.

"Oh, I know you're not like that, your kingship", she said quickly, and something that resembled a smile touched briefly his face, but then a sharper expression appeared in his eyes.

"Would it be so bad to tell me who you really are, then?" he inquired.

"Enough questions for one day. I already gave you one name, and truthful one at that", answered Lothíriel, placing her hands on her hips.

"Then could I at least ask you to show me around? This city continues to perplex me, and I have yet to figure where I could find a tavern that sells some decent ale. My men and I have not seen any in such a long time that we might just forget the taste if this continues", he said then, and again a softer look settled on those features that could seem so fierce and formidable.

"So now you plan to make me drink myself silly and pry out answers while I have no self-control?" Lothíriel shot back. He rolled his eyes up towards heavens, which made her giggle, and she decided a pint couldn't hurt.

"What next? Are you going to accuse me of planning your kidnap? Be careful, or I might just do that", he threatened.

"You wouldn't be able. I would run, and kidnap _you _as a retaliation", Lothíriel informed him with a sweet smile.

"Aye. You would do that, Garafiell", agreed the King. He smiled too.

She lead him and his men into a tavern near the market. It was peaceful but also clean and respectable enough to show to a king, though her father might have been appalled to hear his daughter even knew alehouses in the city. But being the sister of Amrothos one couldn't really avoid that sort of information.

The King's guards appeared delighted for the chance of some proper ale, and fell away to a distance that was respectable but still close enough for them to jump for the protection of their liege-lord if needed – though a quiet little tavern wasn't so likely to receive disturbances to threaten the life of a warrior as accomplished as King Éomer. The man himself was ordering them pints, but when Lothíriel reached for her purse to pay for her own drink, he lifted up a hand.

"This one is on me", he told her and she decided not to argue with him about this one thing.

"Well, how is it?" asked Lothíriel when they had pints of ale before them. "Does it fulfil the Rohirric standards?"

The horselord took a taste of his drink; at least he didn't spit it out, which she took for a good sign.

"It's adequate", he said at last. Lothíriel sipped ale too, and to her it didn't taste any different than ale ever did. She was familiar with the drink, though it wasn't really her favourite.

"Just adequate?" she asked.

"Aye. You should taste the ale they brew in Meduseld, and you would understand", he answered and gave her a charming smile. But then the smile turned into a slightly odd expression.

"What is it?" Lothíriel inquired, suddenly concerned. "Is your drink poisoned or something? I swear if you die on me-"

"No, no. I was just imagining you in the Golden Hall. The idea is very pleasant, I find", he told her.

"Of course it is", she chortled and took a long gulp of ale. Putting down her tankard she took a note he was watching her now, wearing a thoughtful look. She asked: "Why are you staring at me?"

"I am just trying to figure you out", answered the King and tilted his head slightly.

"What have you got so far?" Lothíriel asked, trying for a light tone. His eyes remained on her still and it made her feel kind of jittery, and so she turned her gaze back on her tankard. She'd have taken another sip right then but drinking too fast could prove fatal.

"You can't be a lady, can you? You fight and ride and drink ale. If you grew a beard you could be an Eorling", said the horselord, and never turned his stupidly intense gaze away. Damned man.

"What, are you planning on hiring me as a Rider?" she wanted to know, grinning at the idea. The Gondorian society would never stop speaking of it.

"Oh, most certainly. What would be your preferred salary?" asked the King. In his dark eyes there was a humorous glint, but behind it she thought she could see something more.

"I don't know. A dragon's hoard, maybe?" answered the princess sweetly.

"Very well then. I shall make inquiries about hoards right away", he said nonchalantly and took a mouthful of his ale.

She did the same and spent a moment considering the drink. This banter came so easily... and thinking of it, she wasn't sure when she had last felt so relaxed while conversing with a man (which made no sense, considering their past meetings and the fact that she was effectively making him think she was two different people). Well, the men of her family were one thing, and so was Legolas – the Elf was so different from Men anyway that he didn't really count. But as far as Gondorian men went, they were usually horrified by her or felt personally insulted if she showed her true colours to them. Though they might tolerate her wielding weapons – the times had been violent after all – they certainly didn't tolerate the things she said. And they seemed to think woman wearing breeches or being a better rider but a worse dancer than her male partner were bad things. No doubt this ale-drinking would have done more than just raise eyebrows.

However, King Éomer appeared to have nothing against her rough edges. Was it a thing only he did or were all Rohirrim so easygoing?

"Is something wrong, Little Wolf?" his voice interrupted her thoughts then.

"I was just thinking", she answered, worrying her lip.

"What is it, to have you so grimacing?" he asked and considered her. In his eyes, there was again that expression like he was trying to penetrate her mind. Well, she could understand this was frustrating for him, but it wasn't like she could just spill out the truth to him. For one, she was enjoying this conversation too much for the moment.

"I was wondering if the Rohirric society would be as approving of my behaviour as you are, Sire", she said gingerly. She could give him that much honesty... but then, as Garafiell she had never spoken to him anything else than what was on her mind.

He shrugged nonchalantly.

"We have our own prejudices about the Gondorians, so I imagine you would be considered extraordinary... but Rohirrim are a wilful and spirited people, so you'd fit beautifully among us", he replied with a half-smile on his face.

"I wonder if that is a good or bad thing", Lothíriel said doubtfully. "For someone like me, who is-"

"Who is what?" he asked quickly, having rightly noticed she had been on the point of giving some hint as to who she was.

"Nevermind", she answered and took a long sip of her ale, "Though I must wonder, would even Rohirrim welcome someone who threatened their King and then spied on him on his morning swim?"

The horselord chuckled, and if she could read his face at all it looked like those were fond memories for him. _Fancy that. _

"Oh, they'd just love it if they ever heard, you can count on that. We do have a certain sense of humour, after all..." he said and shook his head, as if remembering something amusing.

The Rohirrim would love her for it... suddenly, an errant question came to her mind: would their king love her for it too?

But as soon as that thought occurred to her she wanted to kick herself for such idiotic musings. She downed the last of her ale and began to wonder what would be the swiftest way of excusing herself. The King of Rohan's presence was obviously starting to affect the workings of her mind in a most unwanted manner.

Now the man was watching her with an expression as though he was waiting for something to happen, like she'd grow herself another pair of arms. So Lothíriel lifted her eyebrows and asked, "What are you staring at, Sire?"

"I am waiting for the effects of that ale to start show on you. Not that it would be wrong – I'd look after you. Are you not feeling drunk at all?" he inquired. He too had finished his ale by now. She snorted at him.

"What do you take me for? I'm far more resilient than that", she informed him (though she did note she'd have absolutely trusted him if she _did _end up drunk as a skunk). Indeed, there was another thing one couldn't avoid as a sibling to Amrothos. But that was also something Father ought not to know.

"Perhaps you are elf after all", he mused thoughtfully.

"You just keep guessing, O King of Rohan", said the princess and didn't even try to hide her smug tone. "Now, are we finished here, or is there maybe some other place your lordship needs to be escorted to? I should be on my way home."

She made for the door, and the King and his men came after her. Outside it was already afternoon.

"I don't suppose it would be of use to follow you?" King Éomer inquired in a tone that sounded at least half serious.

With a half-smile, she answered, "No, it wouldn't. You'd only get lost trying to keep up with me, Sire, and probably get yourself killed or something like that. And then a lot of people would be very angry with me."

She expected the King Éomer to say something humorous to that, but instead of a sarcastic answer he frowned and looked at her in a way that held nothing of the lightness of their conversation before.

"Must you really go?" he asked quietly. This seemed to genuinely sadden him.

"Yes, I must. Why can't we just bid farewell here and promise not to talk to each other again?" she asked... though somehow that didn't seem so right. The look in his eyes became even more melancholy.

"I do not wish to make such promise. And I would not wish to see you gone for good", he told her. But then a small smile made its way to his face. He continued, "To be honest, I do not think this is the last time I will see you."

"Hmph. You do seem to have a tendency of happening on me when I least expect it", Lothíriel agreed dryly. The sad look on his face was replaced by a smile.

"Don't you see? Fates obviously are pulling us together. Why do you fight it so, Garafiell?" he asked.

"Because I'm a stubborn thing and like I told you, my good King, you would not like the real me very well", she replied. Her words didn't seem to impress him, though.

"With all due respect, I would rather make that judgement myself", he told her.

"Of course you would, Sire", she said, not quite able to hold back a small sigh. But then all thoughts left her mind, for the insufferable man went and picked up her hand, and gave a graceful little kiss to her knuckles; his hot breath was like a caress on her skin, and the touch of his lips had her heart making a back-flip.

"Until we next see, Little Wolf", he said, holding her eyes with his own... and in those dark depths there was again that fire she had seen last night.

Burned she fled.

* * *

The only way Lothíriel was able to get that annoying man out of her head was a furious session of hacking a dummy with a practice sword at the training grounds (shooting arrows after drinking ale would have been a poor idea), and afternoon was turning late when she returned home. Father and her brothers were out, and Aredhel informed her they had some business with the King Elessar.

Her sister-in-law was in the middle of some needlework, at which she had always been masterful; sometimes, Aredhel would try and teach some of it to the younger woman but usually those attempts ended in frustration and sometimes in tears. Now, as Lothíriel collapsed on a divan and let out a heavy sigh, she looked up from her work and cast a keen look at the princess.

"Well, what is it?" she asked. Of course she'd see through her husband's sister!

For a moment, Lothíriel considered the ills and benefits of arguing nothing was wrong, but eventually she decided it wasn't worth the effort.

"What... what do they say about the King of Rohan? What kind of man do people take him for?" she asked at length.

Aredhel lifted her eyebrows.

"Wouldn't you know that, though? Or why else did you say the other night you didn't want to meet him... not to mention that show you put up when he was here?" she asked, which made Lothíriel groan. She should have known Aredhel had not forgotten about these things or made her own conclusions.

"Please, sister. Tell me what you've heard", Lothíriel pleaded and assumed a wide-eyed expression. It worked its magic, though the other woman did sigh and roll her eyes.

"Well, one could perhaps say you're not so wrong to avoid him", she said then gingerly. Not that the princess needed really advice on how to tread with King Éomer, but second opinion couldn't hurt. And Aredhel usually had good opinions, not to mention she was aware of the gossip of the day. Lothíriel wasn't sure how that was, considering her sister-in-law didn't usually participate it herself.

"Why is that?" she asked, turning to lay on her stomach and leaning her chin on the palm of her hand.

"Apparently he's very popular with the ladies", Aredhel said with slight disapproving tone, turning back to her needlework.

"Oh, I know that. I almost feel bad for the man", said Lothíriel. It was a wonder he had had time last night to even notice her.

"I didn't mean that. What I purpose to say is that the King is..." her sister-in-law said, then hesitating as if it was too crude for her to speak of. That could just have been true.

"... a ladies' man and a ruffian. No, that doesn't surprise me", snorted the princess and turned around to lay on her back. Oh, she was starting to have a good idea of what the man wanted of her – or one of her identities, at least. She glanced at Aredhel, "Doesn't that put off the unmarried maidens?"

The other woman shrugged.

"Be it as may, he _is _a king", she said nonchalantly. "Marrying him will mean a crown anyway."

Lothíriel made a vague sound of contempt and stared at the ceiling in silence for a while. She didn't expect Aredhel to say more, but then Elphir's wife continued, "It's not just that, though. The word is some woman has already caught his eye, and he barely pays any attention to other ladies. I didn't see it myself but apparently she is also the only woman he has even asked to dance."

Seeing her indifference, Aredhel frowned, "That is a big deal, sister. You can tell a lot about a man by his dancing."

"I'm sure you can", Lothíriel mumbled. Though her sister-in-law didn't seem to have noticed it her indifference was not because of disinterest. It was just that she had been too busy mulling over the information Aredhel had given her.

The older woman noticed, of course. Staring intently at her, Aredhel asked: "What is it, sister?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all", said the princess quickly, but heat rushed to her cheeks and her sister-in-law narrowed her eyes.

"It's you, isn't it? That's what it ridiculous performance was about?" she asked, and Lothíriel knew there was no use in denying it. Groaning, she hit a pillow and hoped it might have been the horselord who was causing her all this annoyance.

"Yes. That is me. I suppose? Unless there's other idiot princesses running about, making him believe she's actually two different women", she said miserably.

"Lothíriel, what have you done?"

* * *

Halfway through his report on the wounded lodging in the Houses of Healing Elfhelm at last noticed that his King was not listening to him.

Instead, the man sat staring out of the window, absent-mindedly fingering an elegant-looking quill in his hand. On his face there was a frown but it wasn't the stern kind; instead, Elfhelm even thought he saw something bemused on that face. The young king wasn't usually the one to so disregard important matters, especially not the kind that had to do with the well-being of his men, but now he evidently wasn't even aware that the Marshal was still in the room and talking.

"Sire? Sire! Éomer!" Elfhelm called with some frustration, and only raising his voice finally brought back the attention of his King.

"What is it? Did you say something?" asked Éomer, straightening on his seat.

"I suppose I'm not wrong to assume you've heard nothing I've said?" Elfhelm sighed, rubbing his forehead. At least the King had the modesty to look embarrassed.

"I beg your pardon, Elfhelm. It wasn't my intention to ignore you so", he said and a focused look came to his face. "I fear I'll have to ask you to repeat what you said."

The Marshal considered the Lord of the Mark before him in silence, but then instead of continuing to his report he decided to try and find what this was about. He knew Éomer was not fond of speaking of things that were troubling him (especially if they were the personal kind), although he otherwise could be called blunt even in Rohirric standards.

"Sire, is there... if you'd like to relieve your heart and mind, I would listen – and help, if I can", Elfhelm said at last, and his words instantly brought back that frown back on the young king's face.

"You're a good friend, Elfhelm, but I do not think there is anything to be done about this", he said reluctantly. The Marshal narrowed his eyes and searched the face of the man before him.

"It's about that strange archer woman, isn't it? The one you told me about after the ball last night – the one you danced with?" he asked. His King sighed and leant back in his chair, throwing back his head.

"I can't stop thinking of her and it is driving me quite insane. I need to find her", said the King of Rohan, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

"Then go and find her and be done with it! Béma knows you haven't held back before when some lass has caught your eye", Elfhelm said; he couldn't help but note he sounded a lot like the very frustrated father of a young fickle man.

"No. This is different, Elfhelm. I want more than to just bed her. I need to know who she is... I need to _know _her", said the younger man. Now he was looking profoundly dejected.

"And then what? Éomer, what if she _is _a commoner after all? There's no way you can marry a woman of low birth. The court is swarming with high-born Gondorian ladies, and they are a very lovely and accomplished lot – which you would see too if you for one moment stopped obsessing about this strange woman. It would be considered an insult if you chose some peasant as your wife when you have access to the noblest unmarried ladies in all the West!" Elfhelm lectured his king. He tried to sound forcible now, because this concern was more than reasonable, and likely shared by all of the Mark. After all, House of Eorl had grown dangerously small, and there was no heir in the land.

"But if I could just find her... she might very well be a lady too", muttered the King, not turning to look at his Marshal.

"It is very unlikely that she has even a drop of noble blood in her veins. You've seen how the ladies are here in Gondor – how they behave and conduct themselves. And all you've told me about this mysterious woman suggests she has no idea of proper ladylike manners. Do you think these Gondorian lords would ever let their daughters learn the skills of war-waging? How could someone like that be a member of a great house?" Elfhelm pointed out, but his observations were obviously not very well appreciated by his friend. And how could the Marshal blame him, really? What awaited Éomer in the Mark was a land that desperately needed restoring and rebuilding, and even in more peaceful times the crown was not an easy burden for a man to carry. To wish for a companion he could love and cherish, to have some light, was not an evil thing to hope for. And the young king was not someone to just fall head over heels for every woman that came his way.

Moreover, Elfhelm had seen how the stranger woman had made his liege-lord laugh at the ball. That wasn't something that occurred often, especially as of late. Béma's beard! Why did such a woman have to be a commoner?

His friend said nothing, but he could see these words had not affected Éomer's mood too brightly. Eventually he did speak however: "Do you think I could sneak away at night, and leave this king business for someone else to attend to?"

"You're the only king we have. And you're the one Théoden chose", Elfhelm reminded him, though he knew him well enough to know that Éomund's son would never utter something like that but half-heartedly. The very fabric of his mind would have to be mutilated and altered for him to not do what was right.

Éomer snorted.

"Sometimes I think he didn't choose very well", he grumbled.

"No one asks me but I think he _did", _Elfhelm argued and gave a comforting smile to his friend. "Don't worry, old fellow. You'll find her again, somehow."

* * *

**A/N: **And here's an update for Friday!

I know this pace may seem a bit slow for now, but I want to properly establish the relationship between our main characters and develop it for a bit before I move forwards. As you can see Éomer remains oblivious to Lothíriel's identity but perhaps her walls have started to crack now...

You might be wondering about that bit considering Feran, but I can't really say much about him for the moment. You'll have to wait and see.

A word on canon: Folcwine was the great-grandfather of Théoden. He is not documented to have sisters but that shouldn't in my opinion be a problem. Canonically we know he had three sons, eldest of whom were twins who died in a war in Harad. So his youngest son Fengel succeeded him, but the new king was indeed a greedy man, and his son Thengel eventually left the realm to live in Gondor, where he met and married Morwen Steelsheen. Thengel was the father of Théoden and the maternal grandfather of Éomer and Éowyn.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Kiiimberly - **In time, they will! :)

**Sandy-wmd - **Glad to hear that!

**Talia119 - **Then I can only say I've done my job well. :)

**annafan - **Oh, this all probably remains kind of unoriginal for the moment, but it's mostly for a soft fall before what I mean to do later. If I meant to keep this story just as "how Éomer and Lothíriel met" I'd have re-thought a lot of things of course. But hopefully what I'll bring in when part 1 is done will be a bit more original. And anyway, the important thing is that the readers are entertained!


	6. Chapter 5

"Such is the irresistible nature of truth, that all it asks, and all it wants, is the liberty of appearing." - Queen Melannen of Gondor, consort of King Turambar

* * *

**Chapter 5**

At breakfast Lothíriel was very quiet and unresponsive. She kept picking the food before her and staring at it as if it held an answer to some great mystery. Amrothos had not seen her since yesterday, and even then only very briefly. But he knew her well enough something was on her mind. His sister's spirits were rarely daunted by anything, so when she did fall silent like this it usually was about something significant.

It wasn't on the front of their family he could question her about it, though (even if Aredhel's pointed looks made him realise Lothíriel's little secret was not so tightly kept after all). That was the last place where she'd tell him what was on her mind, and so after they had finished their breakfasts he caught up with her at the door.

"Sister! Would you like to come and walk with me in the garden? I'd like to speak with you", he said, and she mumbled something that sounded like an affirmative response.

The gardens of the palace of Princes of Dol Amroth were a grand and beautiful thing, and even a warlike thing like Lothíriel could find herself losing a sense of time there. As for Amrothos, he had found it was an ideal place for amorous encounters and other such things Father would call "shenanigans". Still, when the House of Princes in Minas Tirith had first been built the one commissioning it had felt that a garden was necessary here as well, if only as reminiscent of the gardens back in the city by the sea. So, on the scale of gardens in the White City this was one of the nicest, though nothing of course could compete with the real thing. There were even some trees there, creating some much needed green shade and tranquillity that was otherwise absent in the city.

Now the two siblings strolled there, and when Amrothos glanced at his younger sister she still wore that same look. It even felt to him like she might not be aware of his presence, though they walked with arms linked.

"It's about the King Éomer, isn't it? You're so busy obsessing about him that you barely have time for anything else?" he asked then, deciding the straight-forward way was the best one about it. If anything it at least sparked her attention, and her head shot up. Her eyes blazed as she glared at him.

"Amrothos, this is none of your business!" she exclaimed in a shrill voice.

"Well, I think it _is, _considering how much I've done to help you to avoid him", he pointed out, which quickly killed the furious look on her face. Obviously she recognised the truth in that statement.

"Has something happened with him?" he asked then, gentler this time. At first he wasn't sure if she would answer, but eventually she let out a sigh and seemed to give in whatever doubts she had.

"It's nothing much, really. He just happened on me at the markets, and... he just... I don't know what I'm doing here. He drives me insane", she complained.

It was so simple and obvious and Amrothos kind of wanted to laugh. How couldn't she see? But then, it wasn't like this was what often happened to Lothíriel. As far as males went, she was indifferent to them – mostly because they feared her and she was suspicious towards them in turn. At least that was how he interpreted it; she just was an animal men (and many women) didn't understand, but evidently the King of Rohan was making more effort than anyone before. She just couldn't see it... because sometimes, the most obvious things could stare one in the face and one would simply not comprehend it. Éomer was not behaving the way men usually did when it came to her, so in the end her seemingly illogical insistence to not meet him officially was just an attempt to make sense of something she didn't understand. What she had not realised was that if she kept doing it, she'd only push him away for good.

In other words the question was: how do you make two pig-headed people understand they're practically made for each other? The annoying thing about the level of stubbornness Lothíriel possessed was she usually had to figure out these things on her own... but that didn't mean he couldn't help her.

"Have you considered just telling him the truth?" Amrothos tried. Of course there was always the option of gagging and binding her, and then dragging her into the front of King of Rohan. But she'd never forgive him that, and most likely it would just result in screaming and tears.

"Of course not! Have you completely forgotten what we talked about? He'd be furious if he knew!" she wailed and looked now thoroughly miserable. "And anyway I don't need you too telling me this – Aredhel already gave a lecture enough to me yesterday when I made the mistake of telling her of it."

"She was probably right too, sister – you should listen to her. Perhaps just telling him would also set you free", Amrothos offered. "You wouldn't have to make up those ridiculous scenes or run at the sight of him."

"I..." Lothíriel started, but evidently she couldn't find it in herself to finish. But then a starker expression came to her face and she shook her head. "No. He mustn't know."

He sighed tiredly. Just what crime had he committed to have such a stubborn, mad sister for a sibling?

"Hmph. You're hopeless."

* * *

Later that day Amrothos happened to be at the stables when King Éomer arrived from what apparently was a ride to the wide fields outside the city. For someone used to the great grass plains of Rohan this place was probably something of a prison... but the prince did not think much of that. He was, after all, presented with a chance to find out more about the thing between his sister and the horselord... and if it _was _worth the effort of pushing Lothíriel into doing what she was so convinced would turn out badly.

The King lead in his great stallion, which he brought to an empty stall. Nodding to Amrothos as a greeting he began to care for the animal, looking completely at ease. Well, that much could be expected of a horselord, and he didn't even wonder why the man hadn't called for a stable-hand to look to the stallion. Glancing at the animal, Amrothos even considered this warhorse didn't even let anyone else near.

"So, how are you finding our city, my lord?" he asked at last, giving a smile to the King he hoped was a genuine and honest one. After all, Lothíriel would probably kill him if he somehow revealed her identity here.

"It is... it's all I thought it would be, Prince Amrothos", answered the Rohir. That was a fantastic answer, he thought: diplomatic, but one couldn't say what it really meant. This horselord would make one amazing king, he deemed.

"But you're going to return to Rohan soon?" Amrothos asked then.

"Aye. The war is over and my own kingdom awaits me", said Éomer; his sigh was barely audible.

For a moment the prince hesitated. He had to choose his words carefully now, because this King had a reputation of a man with keen perception, and Amrothos didn't want him thinking he had some ulterior motives.

"Do you have family waiting for you there, Sire?" he asked then.

The Rohirric King had stopped with the task of unbuckling the saddle. Instead, he stared ahead with what looked like a frown to Amrothos.

"Would that were", he said at last, and then continued again caring for his horse. "But these years there has been little time for thoughts of marriage and children."

"Of course", said the prince hurriedly but sympathetically. "It must be frustrating, though. Unmarried kings seem to drive certain people crazy."

"That is regrettably true", agreed the horselord. "Sometimes I just wish I could..."

He didn't finish the sentence, though. Instead, he turned to take off the reins of his horse.

"You wish, what? If I may ask, my lord?" Amrothos asked, keeping his tone soft.

"Leave behind this all. And I wish that Théodred my cousin was still alive. Life as a Marshal was so much simpler... and kings must always be thinking of greater good", said the King of Rohan and shook his head.

_Well. _If that wasn't confirmation enough, then Amrothos didn't know what was.

Now he just had to figure out how to get this through the thick skull of his sister... but thinking of it, he knew the tall Rohir was his own best advocate, and the prince made a decision.

He would start with horses.

* * *

It was kind of obvious Amrothos was up to something. He never vexed her the way he had that morning unless he had something in mind, and as far as Lothíriel could tell this time it was about some idiotic attempt in matchmaking. Where he had got such an inane idea she wasn't so sure, but then again it _was _Amrothos. She just hoped he'd not get it in his head to join forces with Aredhel, because together those two could be a formidable force.

That's why she had her suspicions when he asked her to meet him in the stables that afternoon and made vague mentions of going to riding. Of course she could have just refused to go, but it was her brother after all, even if he was an annoying miscreant sometimes. And so she made way there, wondering what it was her brother wanted.

She had always liked the stables. Even back in Dol Amroth she had sometimes gone to watch the stable-hands work there, and so she knew all that went into caring for horses. Couple of times, Aunt Ivriniel had even found her in the middle of shovelling horse manure. Most of the time she overlooked Lothíriel's unladylike manners but then she had thrown a proper fit: a princess had no place doing that kind of a job, and she hadn't even listened to her niece when Lothíriel had tried to explain she could never be a proper horsewoman if she didn't know these things. Incidentally, Father had agreed with Aunt. Usually he was very permissive when it came to her antics (at least as long as she didn't run completely rampant)... sometimes she wondered why that was, but when she had tried to ask this odd look had come to his face, and she had known there was something more to the matter, although he wouldn't talk about it.

Now she pushed those memories out of her mind, for she had come to the royal stables where Amrothos had asked to meet her. Rows of beautiful steeds were there in stalls, some of which she recognised as Rohirric. The sight of those fine animals did make her sigh wistfully, and quietly she wondered if she could talk Father into buying some horses from the Rohirrim. Then again, they had probably lost many horses in the war and would need all that remained for multiplying their herds.

Then she came to look at a horse that was extraordinary, even when compared to Rohirric steeds. Great and proud he stood, and his coat was strange luminous shade of grey that seemed almost silver. He turned to look at the princess and watched her with eyes wiser than any animal she had ever seen. Lothíriel had never seen a stallion like this before, and the sight of him made her feel a kind of respect; she felt like she should introduce herself and bow to the animal.

But then came a voice that was now very familiar to her, once again finding her when she least expected it.

"He is one of _mearas, _in case you are wondering", he said behind her, and Lothíriel jumped around. Then again, she shouldn't probably have been surprised to see the King of Rohan there, leaning against the wooden pillar of a stall. Like she had told him yesterday, he did seem to possess the skill of happening on her when she least expected it.

However, then she realised this meeting did not account to his ability of finding her just like that. No, this one was on her brother and she should have expected something of the sort after that stupid conversation they had shared on the morrow. _Amrothos! _She was going to hurt him for this... but first she'd have to deal with the King of Rohan.

"It is not proper to sneak up behind someone like that and startle them", she blurted out, which brought a half-smile to his face.

"If I may ask, has any of our meetings so far been what you'd call proper?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

"No", she allowed, cringing as she thought of all the embarrassing encounters with this man. "But that is mostly because Sire is stubborn as a rock."

Lothíriel wasn't sure how he'd react to those words, but he laughed; mirth sparkled in his dark eyes and made him look younger.

"I find that amusing, considering you are the one who refuses to tell me her name", he pointed out.

"I have my reasons and they're very good", Lothíriel informed him, though at this point she wasn't even so sure if that was true. "What even is _mearas?"_

"They are the great horses of the West. The legends have it Béma brought them with him long ago, long before even Éothéod. Our songs say he gave their leader to one of Eorl's ancestors, and though the world has changed since then _mearas _will only ever bear the kings and princes descended from Eorl's line. A wild herd of them still lives on the plains of Rohan, and they are protected by the king – no man or woman may touch these horses or harm them. It I said that sometimes in times of need _mearas _reward this protection by helping Eorl's heirs in turn, if they are deserving", answered the King and regarded the beautiful horse with unveiled reverence. "This is Shadowfax, the chief of _mearas. _He is the greatest of horses that live now, and I doubt his like will ever be seen again."

Lothíriel had heard of this horse of course, but hadn't made the connection right away. Stories of the White Rider, the wizard Gandalf and his great horse, were not among the least of what she had heard of the war. But what sparked her attention even more was the way the horselord spoke: there was depth and colour to his voice she hadn't heard before. This observation she put in her heart for later scrutiny.

Then the obvious question rose to her mind and she frowned, "What are you doing here, your lordship?"

This too appeared to be funny to him, for he chuckled.

"My lady, it doesn't make sense to you that the King of the horselords would sometimes visit a stable?" he asked back.

"Hmph. No need to be insolent about it", she grumbled. He didn't comment on that, but rather sought her eyes as if looking for some answer in them.

"You left in a hurry the other day. I hope it wasn't because I offended you somehow", he said then, his voice softer this time.

"Oh, it had everything to do with you, Sire. But not because I was offended", she answered. But as soon as those words were out of her mouth, Lothíriel regretted them. For all she said only ever seemed to fuel his interest; even now, the look on his face was intensely concentrated... namely, on her.

"Perhaps you could tell me your name now? Your real name, that is", he said softly, taking a step towards her. "For I must confess not knowing who you are is starting to drive me mad."

"I..." Lothíriel hesitated. What to tell him?

As she tried to find words, she made the mistake of meeting his eyes. His gaze was fixed on her, unblinking and so... _so honest. _Looking at him, she realised how easy it would have been to lose herself in those dark, vivid eyes. And then she didn't know what she would have done, except lose control.

Again she felt breathless like on the night of the masked ball. Her hands were sweating and she could feel the blush on her cheeks, and she wanted to kick herself for having this reaction. Even her childhood sweethearts or some gallant Swan Knights she had been infatuated with during her younger years had never made her feel like this. And after all, her conversation with Aredhel had convinced her this man wanted only one thing of her. Yet still as she saw how he looked at her it was difficult to keep that in mind. They said Rohirrim and their king were honest people, so could he really be deceitful in this one thing?

At last she made herself speak: "Sire, I'd ask you to forget about me."

Something pained quickly flashed on his face. He took another step towards her.

"Why do you keep running away from me? Is it because of something I have done? Or do you just find my presence so horrendous? Please, tell me, so that I may mend my ways", said the King. His voice was quiet and soft and he seemed so gentle; she wouldn't have thought to find this in him, not after seeing his anger in the woods of Ithilien.

"No. No, it's not that", she mumbled reluctantly.

"Then what is it?" he asked.

"It is because I fear what will happen if I tell you who I am", Lothíriel answered. There was the truth at last, for she _was _scared. But now she was starting to think she wasn't just scared for the reason she had originally thought. There was something else, and that something else was in the way he looked at her.

"Why? Why do you fear what might be?" asked the Lord of the Mark. Ever his eyes remained on her, like he feared she might disappear otherwise... or like he simply couldn't tear his gaze away.

"Because..." she began, and her breath threatened to turn into gasps. _He was so close now... _"Because you would have me, and I don't want to give up my freedom."

_I am of the blood of Mithrellas, after all... _

But to him her words appeared to be confusing. He frowned, "Why would I want to steal your freedom?"

_Oh, Elbereth! _Why did h have to be so... so... she didn't even have word for it. He was so unlike Gondorian lords she was used to, so alien and so wild.

_He is like me. _

But that thought terrified her, though she didn't know why, and she stepped back. A cringe came to his face then and he stepped back as well.

"I've done it again, haven't I? I apologise, Garafiell. Sometimes I forget my manners", said the King, but she couldn't answer; her head was too confused and her thoughts ran amok, with no resemblance of reason. He seemed to recognise that and he sighed.

"It's fine", she said weakly then, "It's not your manners – I'm just not accustomed to someone who is as... as _unhinged _as myself."

That brought a slight smile back to his face and his posture lost some of its tenseness.

"Though I'm not sure if you consider that a compliment, I think I'll take it so anyway", he told her. Considering her, he spoke again in a softer tone, "My lady, I was planning on passing tonight's gathering here in the Citadel, and instead spending the night among my riders. Perhaps I could ask you to come as well, and see some Rohirric socialising for change? I did say you should be introduced to Rohirric dancing at least."

The rational thing to say would have been _no _of course, but the Rohir was looking at her so hopefully, and Lothíriel felt she didn't want to disappoint him. All their encounters had achieved was to make her more and more deeply tangled in this web she had so foolishly spun in her own hand, and still... she wanted to go. She wanted to see what kind of people his men were, how he behaved among them, and how they received him.

"I won't say yes or no. I may come, perhaps", she answered after a moment of hesitation, and though she could tell he was disappointed for such a vague response, but he didn't try to persuade her beyond that.

Like yesterday at the markets, he picked up her hand and gave it a kiss, and just like before that odd breathless feeling came to her... and the shiver ran through her. How unfair! How did he have this effect on her, when she couldn't strike him out cold just as effectively?

"I will wait for you anyway", said King Éomer in rich, deep tones, and she was...

_Damn. _

Once outside, Lothíriel allowed herself some heavy curses.

_Amrothos, I'm going to kill you! _

* * *

Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth was fairly pleased with himself. Never had he set up a meeting quite as effectively or successfully before – or with two parties as blissfully unaware of what was happening. Getting Lothíriel to the stables was pretty easy, and the King of Rohan only had to be sent a note about how his horse seemed to be acting odd. So, hiding behind some columns Amrothos had watched first his sister enter the stables... and the horselord had followed her about five minutes later.

He wasn't sure how the meeting itself turned out but Lothíriel was looking flushed and wild-eyed when she came out. Granted, she was cursing to herself but that wasn't necessarily a bad sign when it came to her, and the King, following her out only moments later, seemed hopeful. That confirmed it had been successful. King Éomer indeed was his own best advocate, and apparently Lothíriel's absurd ways and attitude were merely wonderful from his point of view.

Altogether things were proceeding very well... only, now he needed to get her to admit the truth to the Rohirric king. One thing was clear and it was that the two would never have a future unless Lothíriel revealed who she was. Perhaps King Éomer would be angry, but Amrothos trusted by now she had the man under her spell tightly enough for his eventual anger to run cold quick enough.

However, some push and help were obviously needed... but he wasn't the only one to deliver it. Both parties were too stubborn to listen to him – at this point at least – but luckily he knew just the person who might have greater persuasive skills.

He found Prince Legolas in the palace garden, conversing with his hobbit friends – wonderful little fellows, truly – and the Dwarf Gimli. The Elf's sharp ears of course picked up the sound of his steps right away, and even the look on his face made the prince feel like he already knew what this was about. Legolas got up and approached the young man.

"Prince Amrothos", greeted the Elf and nodded at him. It was probably some Elven thing but he made even that small gesture seem like the most graceful greeting anyone had ever received.

"Prince Legolas", Amrothos replied and smiled, "I would speak with you, if you have time."

"Of course. Time is something my kind has in abundance", said the Elf, and after leaving his friends with a promise they'd continue later, he joined the prince. So they strolled through the garden and Amrothos wondered how he should begin.

"First of all, I should probably apologise for my rude interruption the other day, when you and my sister were busy with your archery", he said after deciding it would probably be wise to make sure the Elf bore no ill will.

"It was fine. I understand Lothíriel has some problems with the King Éomer?" Legolas said, casting a pensive look at the young prince.

"Well, I suppose that's not so far from the truth", Amrothos allowed. Then, seeing the Elf would probably see into the core of it anyway, he judged it would be for the best to just reveal what this was about. So he proceeded into an explanation of what had happened between his sister and the horselord. Legolas listened silently but attentively, and his face did not reveal what he thought.

"So, the problem is that your sister keeps digging herself a deeper hole, all the while failing to see that our friend Éomer is quite taken with her?" Legolas asked thoughtfully.

"I think she has noticed it. She has had to, because our good king is rather obvious about that sort of thing. But my sister is absolutely harebrained when it comes to dealing with the matters of hearts and she simply doesn't know what to do with him. In other words, she needs a push", Amrothos explained.

"Yes. That sounds about right", Legolas said softly and looked ahead as if he saw more than was there. Maybe he did.

Then he turned his gaze towards the prince, "You want me to speak with her of this, don't you?"

"I would be very grateful if you did. She will be too, after a while. Lothíriel is... she wouldn't listen to me, if I told her what to do. But I think she trusts you and your counsel", Amrothos explained. Seeking the Elf's eyes, he went on, "She might not understand it now, but I want what's best for her. And it's pretty obvious that he's probably the only man who could ever love her the way she is."

He smiled then, "And I think she'd be good for him too. Someone ought to wipe away that sombre look on his face."

Legolas nodded.

"I do believe you are correct, Prince Amrothos", he said and a smile touched his face. "Do not worry. I will speak with your sister."

* * *

Since their return from the Fields of Cormallen each day the two kings of Gondor and Rohan had taken some time for a walk in the palace's garden, to speak of things idle or important. Éomer had made many friends during past couple of months, but none he considered the way he did see Aragorn. Theirs was more than just friendship: in the older man he felt like he had found a brother. No one could replace Théodred of course, but in Aragorn he did have someone he could trust the way he had trusted his cousin.

It was a comforting thought at least. Even if they now had peace it didn't mean all difficulties and problems were past. Rebuilding their kingdoms would be a grave task and perhaps hard, but with each other's help all wounds of war would be healed.

And somehow Aragorn too felt like the right person to have the one conversation he now had in mind. Though he had great trust and faith in his own men and especially Elfhelm and Éothain, it seemed to Éomer that Aragorn had the kind of outsider point of view he needed now.

So, that afternoon he uttered a question that would probably have made him feel very uncomfortable had the one receiving it been anyone else.

"Brother, may I ask you something?" he inquired as they slowly made their way through the garden. His friend smiled.

"Of course. Is there something troubling you?" asked Aragorn.

"I was wondering... how did you first meet the Lady Arwen?"

After the Battle before the Black Gates there had been much time for all kinds of conversations, and Isildur's Heir had once spoken of his life before these last years before the war. So the matter of Arwen had also been discussed, which had brought the Rohir a slightly intimidated feeling. The love between Elves and Men did not sound like something out of this Age, after all.

Be it as may, the mention of the lady brought a fond look to Aragorn's face and his eyes seemed to be somewhere far.

"It was a long time ago. I was very young then, younger than you're now. I met her in the woods of Rivendell... it seemed like a dream to me, for I had never seen anything as fair as she is", he spoke softly, and in his voice there was a tone Éomer had not heard before.

However, it did make him feel self-conscious. In his case one could certainly not speak of a dreamlike visions. Unless one meant a nightmare.

"How did you know she was... I mean, what made you understand your heart, and your love for her?" he asked gingerly. He was already wondering if it had been such a good idea to ask Aragorn about this. After all, as far as he and Lady Arwen were concerned, their whole relationship sounded like a tale anyway. Not to mention it sounded quite harmonious too; high Elven ladies were unlikely to spy on kings swimming among the other things.

"I suppose I knew as soon as I saw her. But my understanding of what I have for her grew with time – became deeper, you could say. And often she was what guided me through the evil things and darkness, even if she was far away. That the distance only made our bond stronger finally convinced me that I should never give up on her", Aragorn answered at length. The Rohir mulled over that, frowning to himself. The older man made it sound very simple, but Garafiell – though he knew it unlikely to be her real name – was nothing of the sort. She made no sense and yet she wouldn't leave his thoughts. And if their latest meeting in the stables had convinced him of anything it was the knowledge of how much he'd have liked to kiss her (among the other things).

_What an insufferable woman. _

Aragorn's voice distracted him from these thoughts, which was probably a good thing.

"Do you wish to tell me what makes you ask these questions?" inquired his friend then, and Éomer could feel the keen grey eyes studying him.

"Hmm. You could say I'm trying to make sense of a nonsensical thing", he replied slowly. He wondered if he should tell his friend of the strange woman... but then, it wasn't like Aragorn could really do anything about it. On the other hand, he was the King of Gondor, and perhaps had some power or insight over this...

"Elfhelm says it would be considered an insult if I chose a Gondorian commoner to be my queen. Do you think so too?" asked the Rohir (though of course he was very aware of how that was but a lovely little dream, and one that she might not agree about). His friend didn't answer right away, but remained quiet for a while as he considered the question.

"It's difficult to say", he said after a moment, "For my part, I do not know the nobility and their ways too well yet. But it is indeed very obvious many are hoping you might find a wife from the Gondorian court. As the King I must agree it would be politically a good thing, for it would strengthen our alliance and friendship."

He fell silent for a while, and when he continued it was in softer tones.

"However, as our friend I'd wish you to choose in a way that makes you happy", Aragorn said gently. They had stopped walking now, and the older man rested his hand on the shoulder of his friend.

Éomer sighed in frustration.

"If only one could choose both", he muttered and shook his head.

"Who is she, then? If I may ask?" Aragorn inquired as they continued their walk again.

"She won't tell me her name. And just when I think I've figured out her she just... she's extraordinary, Aragorn, and yet I have no idea who and what she even is", said the younger man with a mixture of bewilderment and admiration – that was, after all, what she always made him feel.

"This woman must be very special", Elessar commented softly, "and I wish I knew I could point you to the right direction. But I can only tell you this: you should ask yourself which option will help _you _the most as far as being the king goes. I am as new to this as you are, but Lord Elrond once told me that to be a good ruler one must build a strong foundation – find yourself a fixed star, and plant your own roots in steady and fertile soil. If you are at peace with yourself, then it is all the easier to fight the demons of the outside , he used words much fairer than that, but the idea is the same, and I think he was right."

Briefly he fell silent and then continued, "I can't say what is your fixed star and where is your strong foundation. That you must figure yourself, my friend."

"Hmph. That does indeed sound like Elvish counsel", Éomer snorted, which made his friend smile. He asked then: "But as a king you would not hold it against me, even it was a commoner as the Queen of Rohan?"

"No. I would not. But my approval may not equal the approval of our society, or your own", said Aragorn solemnly.

"Aye. That is what worries me, my friend", sighed the younger man.

And if she came tonight... then Béma knew what would happen.

* * *

_No. I really shouldn't go. I really, really _mustn't _see him again. _

With a "thunk", her arrow hit the bullseye, and as Lothíriel stood back to watch it quiver she felt momentary clarity and sureness: she wouldn't be going to the Rohirric camp and she definitely wouldn't be giving the King Éomer another change of messing with her head and make her think of things she should not be thinking about. Yes, it was in a few days now that he'd leave, and then things could go back to normal, and she'd not see him again... perhaps not for a long while.

But then, as she took again aim and shot another arrow and it too landed in the exact centre of her target, a feeling of doubt rose. He had been so hopeful back in the stables – he'd be so disappointed if she didn't come. Really, it couldn't be so bad if she went for a little while? Just so that he could see her and perhaps show her around for a bit? She did like the idea of seeing more of the Rohirrim.

_Yes. I should go. I'd like to see him again. _

Then she realised how idiotic she was being, vacillating like this between two choices that were equally impossible in so many ways. At this point she didn't even know which side of her was vouching for which option, and it was maddening.

With a groan of frustration she tossed aside her bow and let out a scream of frustration. Dammit! Why did he have to be so annoying and constantly pester her so? Why couldn't he just leave her in peace? And why must his stupid, bearded, infuriating, comely face float into her mind all the time just like that? She hadn't given him the permission to do that!

"Lothíriel", called a voice then, and she turned to see Legolas approaching; his footfall was so soft she hadn't heard him coming. Possibly he could have walked all the way and hover behind her and she wouldn't even have noticed it if he hadn't announced himself.

"Hello, Legolas", she greeted him and even managed a weak smile. Suddenly she felt stupid for prancing about like that and shrieking to herself – she must have looked ridiculous to the Elf.

"You seem rather agitated. Is something wrong?" he asked gently, smoothly picking up her bow from the ground.

"I... it's just..." she started but found she didn't have words. What to tell him? Tired and frustrated, she groaned again, "It's nothing serious, really. I'm just obsessing about things that shouldn't matter."

"Could those things have anything to do with the King of Rohan?" asked Legolas and took aim with her bow, as if he had an invisible arrow with him. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard his words.

"What! Who told you that? Did you speak to him? Is he coming here? Oh sweet Elbereth, what am I ever going to-" she ranted in panic, but then Legolas stepped closer to her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"No, he does not know who you are", he said calmingly, which was such a relief she almost collapsed.

"And here you almost had me thinking he did", she muttered, rubbing her forehead. Then she cast a doubtful look at him and asked: "How do you know about it, anyway?"

Legolas smiled slightly.

"He asked me to tell you that you're not allowed to kill him for telling me the truth", he answered, which was really enough information for the princess. She groaned in frustration.

"That villain! Oh, I most definitely am going to kill him for meddling and spreading this tale!" she growled. If that little scene he had set up before had not warranted extreme violence, this certainly did.

"Lothíriel", said the Elf steadily and his voice instantly smothered her bloodthirsty mood. The expression in the eyes of Legolas was gentle when he spoke: "Your brother only wishes to help you. That is what I want too."

"Then help me to get rid of the King of Rohan or at least hide from him!" she said desperately.

"Don't you see you're only making this worse, for yourself and for him? The lie you have spun is not going to protect either of you from getting hurt. The longer you let it go on the more it will harm you and him when the truth is revealed", Legolas replied evenly, though the look in his eyes was now sympathetic. "And revealed it will be, sooner or later. You cannot hide from King Éomer, who is a friend of your father and your older brothers."

She lowered her eyes and bit her lip, unable to answer. So Legolas continued, "He is quick-tempered and will probably be angry at first, but he's not an evil man. He would understand. More importantly, he would _forgive." _

"I..." she mumbled, but words failed her. Perhaps Legolas did know the horselord better than she did – they had fought together in Helm's Deep and at the Black Gate after all – and anyway he could very well have some Elven insight to King Éomer's character she didn't possess. Should she do like he said, then?

"Lothíriel, do you not think he's worth the truth? That he deserves to know who you really are?" he asked gently, seeking her eyes.

"But he'll get so mad at me, and maybe at Father too. And after all that he's done for Gondor..." she mumbled, though spoken out loud it sounded really pathetic to even herself. But at this point it was more than that, she had to admit it. This _thing _had already stopped being about angering the King and become much more than that – it had become a struggle against feelings she didn't understand, and somehow she had thought that by hiding from him she could hide from what moved in her heart too.

"After all he has done, isn't truth what you should give to him?" Legolas pointed out. It was hard to argue with that. And perhaps it was just for the better to rip away the splinter once and for all. Father had taught her to be honest; now was a time for her to live up to what she had been brought up with.

"You have to tell him the truth", said the Elf, steady and soft at the same time.

And she knew he was right.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a new chapter! Hopefully you, my dear readers, like it. :)

This chapter does not only contain some bonding between Aragorn and Éomer (which I think will be important for later) but also has our stubborn princess finally coming to an understanding of sorts. Her reactions so far may indeed have appeared irrational but that has been the point of it actually, and hopefully this chapter gives some explanation to that at least. Fortunately for her she has Amrothos there to interfere when she's being too pig-headed.

I know this is not quite so adventurous at the moment, but this part of the story is supposed to be for building the characters and their relationships anyway; I promise it should get more exciting in a chapter or two.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

Quote in the beginning originally by Thomas Paine.

* * *

**Le Pleiade - **Amrothos is indeed doing his best to push them both, perhaps we'll see some results to that pushing in the next chapter!

**Sandy-wmd - **I don't think she really argued the merits per say - she knows his knowledge about all things considering horses far excel her own. It was more about just her being cheeky at him because that's the only way (at that point a least) she can really react to him.

Honestly, I really don't know how that would work out in the Rohirric society. I'm not sure Tolkien would agree to it at least. Personally I see Rohirric as pretty easygoing as far as sexuality goes, but on the other hand I'd imagine even they'd expect their rulers to act as paragons - to be people they can look up to. For now Éomer is merely entertaining the idea of wedding a commoner on a theoretical level because he doesn't want to make up his mind about it, and anyway he'd want to make 100% sure she really isn't a lady before making any decisions. Moreover, I believe he'd respect her enough as an individual and a woman to not ask her to make such a sacrifice for him - to leave behind her home just to become a mistress to a king. Not only that, but he also understands she is a woman he'd need to give himself completely. In other words, she's someone he'd have to marry if he truly wants her.

As for Feran, I can't really say much about him for the moment, but that Éomer doesn't consider the idea that (if Erkenbrand's assessment is correct) this man would try for Éowyn's hand; he believes so much in his sister that he also trusts she'd see through power-hungry suitors.

**Kiiimberly - **I would say it is a combination of Imrahil's trust in Lothíriel (which will be explored, though maybe not so soon) and her having sneaked out without guards so many times that he has given up on trying to send some men with her. :D

**Blitzkrieg - **Hopefully this chapter has explained that matter at least. You're right in pointing out that Lothíriel's behaviour and reasoning seems erratic and irrational, but that's actually the point here. Initially it was about embarrassment and not wanting to disappoint her father, and she continues to try and convince herself that's what it all is about. But in truth it's much more: it's a reaction to a situation she hasn't been before, and feelings she hasn't experienced earlier in her young life. In short you could say that falling in love with a man who doesn't meet any of her expectations of males doesn't make Lothíriel the most logical person for the moment.


	7. Chapter 6

In learning to ride, you must also learn to fall. - Rohirric proverb

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Sun was setting and Lothíriel was already regretting her decision. As she regarded her reflection in the mirror she felt convinced that the night would only end in ruin and tears and maybe bloodshed too, and it'd be for the better if she went now and found some hiding place so that Amrothos couldn't drag her along.

But then she considered how unlike herself that thought was. Had she ever feared anything like this? He was just a man, for Elbereth's sake! What could he do to her except scream? And if he tried to kill her, then she could maybe use him as a target practice for her bow, and... no. Killing a king was not such a good idea.

She groaned and rubbed her temples. At least she looked kind of nice, as she had allowed Bainiel to braid her hair and she had even picked up a nice riding gown (it had a split, because she refused to use a side saddle). Still the worrisome truth remained: she'd have to reveal her identity to a hot-tempered man who also happened to be a king. No doubt Father would hear of it sooner or later too, and then she'd be in trouble.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of knocking at the door, and then Amrothos peeked in. As soon as she had taken her leave of Legolas she had gone and sought her brother, whom she had informed he'd come with her to the Rohirric camp tonight.

"You insisted on meddling so you'd better see this thing through", Lothíriel had told him and for one reason or other he had complied without arguments.

"Are you ready, sister?" he asked now. "I think we should get going."

"Well, I don't really think I'm going to get any more ready than this", she sighed and cast one more look at her reflection. She thought she looked sick.

"It's going to be all right. I think the man likes you enough to let it pass", Amrothos tried.

"Brother, just don't", she said in a suffering voice, and he understood his comments were not needed at the moment.

"Fine, fine", he said quickly. "Shall we go then?"

"Yes", Lothíriel answered and fastened a cloak on her shoulders. "On to the Lion's den we venture..."

* * *

_Would she come?_

That had been the chief thought in the mind of King of Rohan ever since he had arrived to the Rohirric camp down on the fields. Though the evening appeared to have all the makings of a proper feast – someone had thrust a wineskin in his hands and he had been invited to sit by at least dozen different camp fires – he found it difficult to enjoy himself. All the while, he'd look around himself, and expect to see her somewhere close.

But then there was the possibility she _wouldn't _come. Why should she, after all the times she had tried to tell him to forget her?

Time was running short, soon he'd return to his own realm, and he'd be damned if he was to go there without even saying goodbye to the woman who called herself Little Wolf.

Elfhelm, ever the old hawk, noticed something was on his mind. Likely he even knew what it was about, as he didn't ask what was wrong. And anyway his expression said all that was necessary for the young king to know. This all was annoying and stupid, the way his personal life had apparently become a matter of politics and common interest, and if he had known any of this beforehand Éomer thought he would have run for the wild the moment Uncle had made him the heir for the throne.

Now he pushed aside those thoughts, however. The night was fair and young and there was a merry mood in the camp, and the men seemed happy to see him there; the atmosphere was far less formal than up in the palace too. While Gondorian court gatherings could be very posh he knew what he preferred.

After a stroll through the camp they came to a company of Riders from the Muster of Edoras, and loudly they demanded that the King join them for a bit. Room was made around the fire and Éomer allowed himself to be persuaded to take a seat.

"But really my lord, it is good to have you here in our company for a bit! We lads were starting to think they were trying to turn you into a Gondorian up there in the palace", commented one man sitting close; the young king remembered his name was Elred.

"Apparently the crown comes with many strings attached, and standing on ceremony is sadly one of them. In that one matter at least I am looking forward to going home as much as any of you", he answered lightly. Indeed, if Uncle had lived he knew where he'd have spent his nights... then again, it was very likely he wouldn't have been able to fight the temptation of at least making an appearance to see if certain lady was attending.

"What's it like up there, Sire?" asked another man.

"It's... very Gondorian", said Éomer at length, which amused his riders. A laughter rose among them.

"And the ladies, my lord? Are they very beautiful?" Elred asked.

"Aye, I suppose so –at least as long as one has patience for thinly veiled offers for marriage", he replied dryly and took a taste of the wine. This was evidently funny as well for the men, as they laughed again and proceeded into a conversation about the absurdity of the idea of a Gondorian noblewoman as their queen. Luckily Éomer's opinion was not asked in this matter, though he would have liked to point out some other topic would have been refreshing for change. In theory he did understand the concern behind all this talk about marriage and queen and whatnot, but it was starting to exhaust him.

Fortunately conversations turned towards other things then, even to the point of making him forget about those ever-present concerns. This light atmosphere was just what he needed. It should suit well Éothain too, as the captain was always nagging to him how he should sometimes relax and try to enjoy himself.

The merrymaking did come to an abrupt and unexpected end after a while, however... for there was a female voice, and he'd have known that furious shrieking anywhere.

"You pig! You're not the King of Rohan and even if you were I did not give you the permission to touch me! Oh, I should do a favour to all women everywhere and skin you right here!"

As Éomer jumped on his feet his eyes instantly found her, and there was Garafiell threatening a Rider with a small blade – he knew she'd use it if need be, and she would probably win too.

But bloodshed wasn't probably what this night asked for, and so he swiftly strode towards the Eorling who had evidently made unwanted advances towards her, and the strange, insane, wonderful woman he so wished to make his queen.

_She had come. _

* * *

Father was usually pretty permissive when it came to his daughter and her whims. For one, he had already given up his attempts to make her take a guard or two along when she visited the training grounds or markets: she had sneaked out alone and returned unscathed enough times for him to come to the conclusion that she could take care of herself. Years of watching her run about with her brothers, and the way she handled her bow and small blades she usually hid in her clothes, had convinced him that his warlike daughter would be fine.

He did insist she take someone along if she went beyond the city walls, though (which was a fair enough request at least). This time her company consisted of Amrothos, and the name of their father got the two siblings through gates without any trouble.

They did agree however that he'd only accompany her only as far as the Rohirric camp, and then he'd let her go and find the King of Rohan on her own. Amrothos had offered to come along as moral support, but Lothíriel knew she had to settle this by herself.

"Besides, your presence would probably just confuse him or put him off before I had time to even say anything. I'll just... I'll see how it goes, and find you again afterwards", she had told him. Then grimacing, she muttered, "Say goodbye to Father for me if his kingship decides to murder me."

Her brother had snorted at that but he had not said anything, and so they had started for the Rohirric camp.

Getting there had been easy too: the guards were on a merry mood and they had not asked questions when Amrothos had said they had come to see some friends. Apparently people came from the city often enough, and this festive after-war atmosphere no one apparently had proper energy for suspicions. Amrothos had wished her luck and promised to take care of their horses, and with her heart hammering in her chest Lothíriel had started to look for the King of Rohan.

Asking directions turned out helpful, though half of the men she met and questioned didn't seem to have any idea of where their liege-lord might be – they were apparently happy to help anyway. But some, like the man she considered flaying, seemed to think a lonely woman in the search of the King warranted rude behaviour.

Be it as may it did seem like her fate was to be frequently found by the King Éomer when she was in the middle of rampage or otherwise just not presentable for a king, and this time he arrived when she had pulled the foul-mannered man down by his beard and was threatening him with a dagger.

"Lady Archer! I see you have not given up your habit of manhandling of Eorlingas", he called out. She made no move to let go of the Rohir who had first claimed he was indeed the Lord of the Mark and then tried to kiss her. The voice of the actual King had the annoying fellow freezing anyway.

"I beg to correct that statement, Sire. I only manhandle Eorlingas who are being rude", she said sweetly, momentarily even forgetting what it was she had come to do here. The damned King truly did have a way of distracting her.

The horselord approached them and turned to look at the man posing as him.

"What is your name, Rider?" he asked. There was a stark look in his eyes and he seemed somehow taller and larger. Standing straight and resting one hand on his sword, the man was every inch the king – more so than she had seen him before now.

"It's Bron, my lord", said the man faintly. As Lothíriel was still holding on to his beard she could very well smell the scent of wine in his breath, and grimacing she let go of him and unsheathed her dagger. It wouldn't do to skin people on the front of King Éomer.

"What precisely had you presenting yourself as me?" asked the King of Rohan, his voice steady and sharp. His question made Bron flush in embarrassment.

"Just trying to appeal to the lady", he mumbled.

"Well, the lady is not appealed!" Lothíriel growled, which made the man flinch as if he thought she might indeed go through with her threat.

"You heard her, Bron. Hasn't your captain told you that we ought to behave courteously and respectfully towards our hosts?" asked the King. He was frowning now and it made him look kind of threatening.

"But my lord, she said she wanted to see you, and I thought she was a... a lady of the night", Bron spluttered.

At that the princess shrieked. Without further consideration she pulled back her fist and flung it against the man's face, just the way Erchirion had taught her. Though the punch certainly did hurt her knuckles, it looked like the pig of a man and his face hurt much more.

"You insolent scruff!" she exclaimed. But Bron had apparently lost the control of his legs, for he fell down and began to snore. As she towered above the man she considered kicking him, but then a sound of applause interrupted her thought and she looked about. The King and his men, as well as other riders who had witnessed the scene, were cheering at her.

She recovered from her surprise quickly enough, and so she made a mocking little bow and turned towards King Éomer. His eyes were sparkling with mirth and he offered her his arm. Without hesitation she placed her hand there.

"That was truly beautiful, Garafiell. Where did you learn to hit like that?" he asked, and she was surprised to hear some admiration in his voice.

"My brother taught me", she answered. Casting a look at him she allowed herself a small moment of bewilderment, though perhaps it shouldn't be such an astonishing thing that this man wouldn't be put off by her punching people. He chuckled and then spoke in his own native tongue to couple of his guards, giving what sounded like commands. Indeed, the two picked up the snoring man from the ground and took him away.

"Why were your men cheering at me? Shouldn't they be appalled that some woman comes and beats up one of them?" she asked the horselord beside her.

"Eorlingas have nothing against women standing up for themselves, especially when a man has crossed the line. As to why the cheered at you, I presume they were surprised to see a Gondorian woman so bold", he answered. A faint crooked smile touched his face, "Just as I was surprised when we first met in the woods."

Lothíriel made a scoffing sound.

"Well, he was a rude and annoying fellow, and I have no patience for such behaviour", she said nonchalantly and lifted up her chin. That pulled a soft laugh out of the King.

"I am glad that you came, my lady. Though I must apologise for Bron's behaviour", he said then.

"Hmph. Maybe I should have skinned him anyway", she muttered.

"Perhaps not. It is kind of a bloody work", he commented wryly. A slight smile came to his face, "Would you like to have a look around? And this time without drunk and ill-mannered riders?"

"If your kingship would be so kind", Lothíriel replied. Perhaps the inevitable conversation could wait for a bit... she hadn't seen the Rohirric camp before now, after all. And the horselord seemed to be on a good mood – she didn't want to ruin that quite yet.

As they strolled through the camp she saw long precise rows of tents that served as lodgings for the riders. When she asked if it was very uncomfortable, the King just shrugged.

"Rohirrim are a people of horses. Many of us are nomads and herders and the sky is roof enough for us. That is why the settlements in Rohan are small for the most parts. I understand most of the tents came from the city, as we couldn't bring much supplies with us when we rode for Gondor", he explained.

On their way they also met an endless amount of tall blond riders. Their king they greeted light-heartedly, though she could see the love and respect behind that merriness, and to her they gave curious looks. Most of them wore their hair long, just like their liege-lord, and had lively bearded faces that easily turned into grins. Their clothing was simple but comfortable-looking and made of good materials (she knew Rohirric wool and leather were considered very high quality). Between themselves they spoke their own language, which sounded lively to her ears.

"Are all Rohirrim riders, my lord?" she asked, glancing at the tall man beside herself.

"All of us learn and master horsemanship – all those who can, at least. It is considered a matter of pride among us, you see. But not all actively ride in éoreds. The men you see here are in large part the common folk who were mustered when the call for war came. In the times of peace they are farmers, merchants, herders, and craftsmen. The Marshals and Eorling lords have éoreds of men who are warriors by trade –those riders are tasked with the protection of our lands. When all able men ride for war it is called the Muster of Rohan", he said, looking ahead. He glanced at her, "We don't have fortresses, except for the castle of Hornburg, and that was not even originally built by our people. Men who defend it are almost exclusively those who were born and raised there and the common jape goes they are the worst riders in the Mark. Our forces are a cavalry, and we only fight on foot as a last resort."

Lothíriel listened attentively to this explanation. It was fascinating to hear it from a man of Rohan, who was nothing less than the king himself. Strange how it could go like that sometimes.

"I heard of what you did on the Pelennor fields, Sire. I heard of the shield-wall you raised there – I saw it myself, from the walls of the city", she said quietly, though she feared it might somehow insult him. Perhaps the memory was unpleasant one?

"Hmm. Then you know I did it because I expected all of us to die", he answered solemnly, and as she looked up at him she could see a shadow on his face. _Unpleasant memory indeed. _

"I tried to sneak out and fight too. Stupid, I know. But everyone else was out helping and it was horrible to be left behind. Father found me, though, and sent me to the Houses of Healing. He said I was far more useful running errands there... he usually says he trusts me to handle myself, but that time he obviously didn't", Lothíriel said, which instantly caught the attention of the Rohir beside her, as it always did when she spoke of herself.

"Why am I not surprised to hear that?" he mused dryly, though the shadow had passed from his face now.

"Think of it, though! We might even have met in a battle if I had been able to get out without Father noticing", she said to cheer him up, and it did bring something of a smile to the King's face.

"And have our little shouting match sooner? I'm not sure I'd have been much of an opponent then", he commented. That she could understand: he had just lost his uncle and been under the impression his sister was dead too. She decided not to let him think of that, though.

"Well, neither were you back in the woods of Ithilien", said the princess smugly, which made him roll his eyes, but obviously it had the hoped effect of distracting him from the memories of the battle.

They had now arrived to a something of a square in the middle of a camp, where tents were not so close to each other. Couple of men appeared to be in the possession of lutes and a peculiar-looking flute, and they were adjusting their instruments.

"Now, my Lady Archer, what about that Rohirric dancing?" asked King Éomer with a charming smile.

"I'm afraid I have no idea how you do that", she said, eyeing the players and the men gathered around with some suspicion.

"It's all right. It's not about getting the steps right, anyway", he said nonchalantly and offered her his hand.

"Then what is it about?" she wondered; the musicians had now started a lively tune.

"I will show you", said the horselord and pulled her into a dance.

Truth be told, to her it seemed more like leaping around than dancing. And questionable leaping at that as far as propriety went, because he not only did he take a good firm grip of her hand and placed another on her waist, but also stood so close to her that in the middle of the dance it almost became like an embrace of sorts. Then as he pulled her along she had to hold on to his shoulder just to keep up with him.

It was certainly different than that proper court dance back in the ball the other night, and there was no time for conversing. All her concentration was consumed by just keeping up with him and giving an occasional yell, but as her heart hammered fast and his grip of her remained steady, Lothíriel found it wasn't actually too bad. It was less about performing flawlessly and more about moving together with the guidance of the cheerful tune. Her yells turned into shrieks of laughter and the way King Éomer was grinning proved he was quite enjoying himself too.

She was out of breath when they finally slowed down and he found her a seat close to a near-by fire. The King's guards had fallen away to watch or even participate in the dance, apparently to give some privacy to their lord. They had followed the King and his lady companion through the camp, but Lothíriel had paid little heed to them: she had been too concentrated on King Éomer.

Now, as he sat beside her, he offered her a drink. Somehow he acquired cups of sweet-smelling liquid she recognised as mead.

"Here you go. You must be thirsty", he said and she took a long sip of the drink. It was very sweet and she knew she'd have to be careful with it, lest she drank too much and ended up passing out here in the camp.

"Thank you", she said and gave a smile to the Rohir sitting beside her. She considered him, "So that is what you call dancing in Rohan."

"More or less", said the King with a half-smile. "How did you like it?"

"It was... very lively. I should have known to expect something like that", Lothíriel answered and took another sip of the drink. She narrowed her eyes, "Do all dances require that kind of contact? Isn't that improper?"

He lifted his eyebrows.

"What is improper about two adult people dancing together if they want to?" he asked. "They're wearing clothes and everything."

She couldn't but laugh at that. _Rohirrim. _What a precious people!

"You shouldn't say that to the ladies up at the Citadel. Especially the part about clothes", Lothíriel sniggered.

"No worries, my lady. I wasn't going to share that opinion with them anyway", he answered nonchalantly and tasted his mead.

As her laughter eventually faded away the princess remembered their previous talk about the Rohirrim being a people of horses, and that brought her back to the conversation even earlier. _Horses... _she remembered the great stallion she had seen up in the Citadel just before the King of Rohan had once again happened on her.

"Sire", she spoke up, making him look at her quizzically, "Earlier today I was thinking of the horses you told me about. _Mearas, _you called them. Have you ever ridden one?"

He shook his head.

"Only the kings and princes of Rohan can ride them. Except for Shadowfax, of course. Outside Eorl's line, legends know of no other rider than Gandalf who has been able to tame a _mearas _horse. Then again, I suppose we can agree he is not an ordinary man", he replied.

"But you're the King now. Doesn't that mean you would be able to ride one of them?" she asked.

"I suppose so, yes. However, _mearas _aren't just your ordinary horses. You don't get to choose one of them, even if you are a king or a prince – they choose you", said the Rohir quietly. He considered his drink with something like a frown, and she knew something was on his mind.

"What is it, Sire?" she asked. He looked up at her and gave her a sheepish smile.

"You'd think me foolish", he said. There was something to the colour of his voice she didn't really comprehend, but then Lothíriel already knew there was still much about this man she did not understand.

"I saw you skinny dipping in Anduin, Sire. You can tell me", she told him pointedly, which brought out a small laugh of him.

"That is true, my Lady Archer", he agreed.

He sighed then and looked into the flames of the camp fire for a moment before speaking again. Lothíriel watched him silently, noting the way the light of fire was caught in his hair, and how it revealed flecks of gold in his dark eyes. For one unguarded moment she found herself considering that face and wondering if he'd mind much her touching his hair – if just to see how it felt like. But ten he began to speak, distracting these unexpected thoughts; his voice was quiet and his brow knitted.

"Many years ago, I had this dream. It wasn't that usual kind of thing with no rhyme or reason – afterwards, I wasn't sure it wasn't real. Be it as may it came to me on the first night we – my sister and I – spent in the Golden Hall after the deaths of our parents", he began softly. He continued, "In the dream, I was in my new room when something awoke me, and it seemed to me something was calling me outside. So I left my bed and ventured out, and all of Meduseld was quiet and dark. I made my way outside... Edoras was in slumber, but the lands around the hill were covered by silver mist. The stars were very bright, however, and all the world was pale and luminous."

"The horse arrived then, climbing uphill towards the Golden Hall. Wild he was, for he bore no rider and no bridle, and in the light of moon and stars his grey coat shimmered. The moment I beheld him I knew he was one of _mearas. _You saw Shadowfax and how he is – though he is indisputably the greatest among these horses you never really mistake one of their kind for ordinary steeds. So I watched this dream-horse, and he came to me, and then as he bended on one knee to ask me to ride with him, I woke up", he finished and shook his head.

"That is... well. I don't suppose dreaming of horses is so odd for a man of Rohan?" Lothíriel said thoughtfully.

"Not all dreams are just dreams. And Eorlingas believe it is particularly significant if you dream of _mearas_. You're not of the Mark so it is difficult to explain the meaning of it. I know it was not an idle dream, because many years later I saw that same stallion again – in the very waking world", said the Rohir. A crooked smile appeared on his features then, "Oh, now you think I'm a lunatic."

"It does sound odd, if I may say so. How do you know it was the same one, and where did you see it?" asked the princess. Though the tale was peculiar it was somehow fascinating as well. And perhaps she was wrong in doubting it. Horselords had their own legends, their own wisdom and way of seeing the world... hadn't she witnessed the meaning of dreams first-hand, when Faramir and Boromir had received those strange words in their dreams before the War had started?

"Incidentally, it was just couple of months ago. I was returning to Aldburg after hunting orcs, when suddenly on the plains I perceived this stallion that looked exactly like the one I had seen in my dream so long ago. He came from the mist, just like I had dreamt, and galloped beside me for a while before he again disappeared... it was on the night my cousin Théodred died", he said quietly as the frown deepened on his face. "I didn't know. I should have been there – I should have come to his aid. He'd live, if I had -"

Lothíriel didn't allow him to finish that sentence. She touched his forearm, which made the young king look up, and there was no mistaking the haunted expression in his eyes. She met his gaze steadily.

"You have done all that you could, my lord", she said calmly. "And you and your people have saved all our lives. You're not guilty for all the death and destruction that has taken place."

Then she offered him a smile and asked, "Do you think you'll see that horse for a third time?"

"I don't know. To be honest, I'm slightly worried what should happen if I do", he said sincerely. Momentarily the frown deepened on his face and that shadow she had seen before appeared again. But then he downed his drink and tried to smile.

"Perhaps that is enough for unpleasant topics for conversations, my lady", he decided. Her hand still rested on his forearm, on which he placed his own hand, warm and large and calloused. Then as if without thinking he twined his fingers with hers, and her chest felt tight as she lowered her eyes on their joined hands. It felt nice and she returned the gesture instead of letting her fingers just rest in the warm security of his.

He moved closer then, which did nothing for how breathless she was starting to feel, and ever so gently lifted her chin with his free hand. Those dark eyes looked endless and she had to turn her gaze quickly away, lest some spell was put on her.

"Garafiell", he spoke that name, carefully pronouncing each syllable and somehow adding depth and colour to it; before now it had merely been a humorous nickname Father used when he was exasperated. King Éomer called it again, "Garafiell, I'm not going to ask your name, but could you at least tell me if you are a daughter of a nobleman?"

"Why do you ask?" she asked back and her voice came out as a squeak. Now he smiled slightly.

"It's just I should probably start and figure out all the explanations and rationalisations I will have to give my people and yours, if you're not a high-born lady. Because it is going to require a lot of imagination to make up a believable and not completely outrageous reason for why I'm convinced a commoner would make as good a queen as any noblewoman", he said softly. She nearly jumped at that and a strange sound escaped her mouth, and she turned to look him with wide eyes.

"My lord!" she stuttered, "We haven't even agreed about anything yet! And there was never talk of queens! Not to mention I haven't even kissed you!"

"That can be fixed right away", he murmured and leaned closer to her, and truth be told the way he looked at her then and how his lips slightly parted and she could feel his breath did make it very, very hard not to jump him right there.

But she simply couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let him walk into this fire like that – not without the truth. He had to know, because if he didn't, if she let him kiss her now she'd forever regret it afterwards if the truth did have the worst effect she could imagine.

And if she kissed him she'd lose herself.

Lothíriel placed a hand on his chest, effectively stopping him there. He blinked and frowned, and she knew he was wondering if he had read the signs wrong. Before he could entertain that thought further she spoke: "There's something I'd speak of with you, my lord. And it is very important that we do so right away, before... before anything more happens."

She was rather proud of how steady that came out, though her heart was hammering in her chest in an unsteady pace and keeping straight her mind was very difficult with this infuriatingly attractive horselord hovering so near. Fortunately he was able to gather some semblance of clarity to recognise the urgency in her words, and so the King of Rohan nodded.

"Very well then", he said and pulled back, which did disappoint her. Oh, sweet Elbereth! How differently this all could have gone, if she had just been honest from the beginning. And she was all the more convinced telling him the truth now would result in her hurting him, especially after the way he had shown her so much of himself tonight, revealed things to her she sensed he didn't generally speak of.

But Legolas had been right. King Éomer did deserve her honesty.

Apparently he had noticed something strange on her features, for he touched her hand, and she looked up to see concern in his gaze.

"This... this is not really a good place for it. I'd like to talk with you in private, Sire", Lothíriel said uneasily. The breathless feeling had already turned into a cold sensation of dread of what would happen next.

"Of course. My tent is not too far from here – I believe that should be private enough", he said and got up on his feet. He offered her his hand to pull her up, and Lothíriel took it. He helped her to stand and even a gesture so simple was suddenly something to make her want to seriously hurt herself. It was now all the more real, the way she had treated him... it would be a wonder if he forgave her.

On the way to his tent they did not speak much, though Lothíriel did try to think of something cheerful to say. However, now she just couldn't summon any light banter that had come so easily before. Whether he deemed odd her sudden quietness she didn't know, and anyway she couldn't bring herself to look up at him.

They reached the royal tent soon enough. It was larger and when they stepped in she noted it also had rugs on the floor and some collapsible furniture. The King gestured her to sit down, which she did, and all the while the knot in her stomach grew tighter ad tighter. But this had to be dealt with and he needed the truth.

"Would you like something to drink?" asked the horselord, but Lothíriel shook her head.

"No thank you", she answered. While getting herself drunk did seem appealing in the face of what was to come, she did also know that drunkenness would not help at all with what she'd have to do.

He took the other seat and she dared to look at him. The frown on his face confirmed he had already noticed how awkward she had suddenly become.

"Now, what is it? Is something wrong, my lady?" he inquired, studying her face with unblinking eyes.

She sighed and momentarily considered her hands, which she had folded in her lap. Oh, she should have just told him everything the moment she had come here! Now, after the pleasant time spent with him, it felt all the more difficult. Then, knowing she couldn't postpone this any longer, she started to speak.

"You have been asking for my name, Sire", Lothíriel started slowly, and a brief glance towards the young king confirmed he had frozen where he sat, staring at her even more intently now than before. "I... I suppose it's high time I stopped lying to myself, and to you. And I should tell you that I am sorry for my behaviour – I did none of this because I wanted to hurt you, my lord."

He remained silent, which she imagined was because he feared she'd change her mind if he somehow interrupted her.

"I know it was probably very stupid to do that, but after our encounter by Anduin I decided to avoid you. I was embarrassed and... and I thought you'd think less of my father, knowing what kind of a daughter he had. I didn't want to cause him disappointment, because I had heard him speaking so highly of you, and I knew he thought of you as a good friend", she went on, keeping her eyes on her hands.

"It was only later that I started to see what an idiotic idea it was, because you kept on happening on me, Sire, and the hole I had tossed myself in just got deeper and deeper, for you were nothing like I thought you were. And then you came to my father's house, and he was so determined we meet, and I thought maybe if you thought I was touched in the head I could make sure you wouldn't make the connection between that hideous orange-wearing thing and the woman who screamed at you in the woods. But that very same day we danced, and I started to..." her voice fell quiet, because the words were tangling in her throat and from somewhere tears had found their way into her eyes. Angrily she wiped a hand across them, because now was not a time for bawling.

"I started to realise how much I liked you, my lord", she announced in a stronger voice. Now she lifted up her eyes to meet his gaze, to see if his features betrayed anything that was going in his mind. But the King's face was just blank as he sat there. So she continued, "I liked you, the way it was so easy to speak to you – and how I could be myself even if I was... even if I hadn't told you who I was. I thought you'd be like the Gondorian men and would be offended if you knew a daughter of your good friend was such an orc of a girl, and that is where I made my mistake. Sire, the reason I put up this show and refused to reveal the truth was because I did not understand you, and because I didn't understand myself."

Taking a deep breath, she spoke it out loud at last: "My lord, I am Princess Lothíriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth."

* * *

**A/N: **And I return with a new chapter!

Here at last Lothíriel tells the truth to Éomer... but I'm afraid we will have to wait for his reaction until the next chapter. I also felt like some relationship-building was yet needed - hopefully I didn't frustrate you, my dear readers, too much with that almost but not quite kiss. :D Well, they say good things are worth waiting for!

Some of you have made it clear Lothíriel's irrational behaviour is annoying. I can understand where that comes from, but please keep in mind she's not a perfect person, and moreover she's young and hot-headed and she's never been in a situation like this before. For someone so inexperienced (though she'd never admit that, not to mention it must embarrass her) getting attention from a handsome young king must be bewildering - especially when she begins to discover that he's not unlike herself. But perhaps she is now coming around and seeing how foolish she has acted. Well, that is the thing about stubborn characters - they're stubborn in good and bad.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Sandy-wmd - **Yes, I did think that was necessary, to keep up with what they're thinking at the moment. Glad you liked the chapter!

**Kiiimberly - **Oh, he is! It's probably not wrong to say he's enjoying the situation much more than anyone else. :D

**quickreader93 - **Thanks! :)

**Wondereye - **Happy to hear that! I rather liked writing that little scene. :)

**Le Pleiade - **Chances are she'd slap you back, though. :D Like I said, stubborn people are stubborn both in good and bad!

**Talia119 - **I consider the part with Aragorn and Éomer pretty important in some ways. And I think Aragorn would be the one Éomer would go to with things like this.


	8. Chapter 7

Leap like a lunatic  
Over the chasm below  
erupting as you go  
Your true self awaits you  
Now, you will know.  
- Skalkisham of Umbar

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Lothíriel had already bawled out her eyes by the time her father knocked at the door of her bedchamber and stepped in. It was a good thing he didn't find her crying, because she hated doing that in the front of people, and Father especially seemed so shaken when she did cry – she thought that was because he usually didn't even believe she was capable of tears.

"Daughter", called Father now softly, approaching her; she was sat on the bed and hugging her knees close to her chest. She didn't turn to look at him but could feel his eyes on her, and she could very clearly imagine that concerned expression he must be wearing. He spoke again, "Daughter, Aredhel said she saw you coming home in tears. Is something wrong?"

Worrying her lip, Lothíriel wondered what to tell him. Somehow it didn't feel like she had it in herself to spill any more truths tonight. But then, perhaps it was for the better she explained this to him herself, before he heard some twisted version from second hand source – or worse: from the King Éomer himself.

"Father, I've been a complete and utter idiot", she replied at last and let out a heavy sigh.

He remained silent and unmoving for a bit, but then he came to sit beside her. Gently, he picked up her hand in his own and considered it.

"Would you like to tell me about it, my child?" he asked gently.

There was not really choice about it – not when her dear father asked like that. And she had always been able to tell him about things that troubled her, until now at least. Years had shown he worried for her sometimes, more than for her brothers, even though ultimately he did trust in her ability to handle herself. Lothíriel had never been able to ask what was the root of this emotion.

After one more moment of hesitation she started to speak. She described the chance encounter in the woods of Ithilien and the webs she had spun with Amrothos to conceal her identity, with the result of digging the hole ever deeper. He listened quietly to her and asked no questions, not until she came to this very night, when she had gone to the Rohirric camp with the intention of telling the truth.

"How did he react when he heard?" Father asked. His voice did not betray what he was thinking or if this information displeased him. She had thought he'd be angry if and when he heard of all this, but no matter how she searched his eyes she didn't find even hint of fury there.

"He... I thought maybe he'd be angry. Well, he was. But not outrageously angry... he was just... coldly disappointed in me. I can deal with fury and rage, but that kind of icy resentment..." she mumbled, not daring to look at her father. The tears were threatening to spill out again, but somehow she held them at bay. Thinking back and remembering what had happened in the King's tent seemed to tear at that wound she had inflicted herself; she had not known seeing that kind of remote hostility could be so hurtful... what made it so stinging was how open he had been before the unfortunate exchange, and how she had seen those doors to his soul closed.

King Éomer had not said much, not in words at least. He hadn't needed to, for all that she had to know had been there on his face. His reaction had been cold and minimal and yet it hurt like he had hit her: he had just ordered her to leave.

"Did you apologise to him at least?" Father asked.

"I tried. But he didn't want to listen. He looked like he'd have me thrown out if I didn't go by myself, and so I left... Amrothos was luckily there, and we came home", she answered and sighed heavily. "I knew he'd probably be angry with me. I just hoped it wouldn't be so bad."

"He has quick temper, my daughter. If I know him at all, I should say his anger was mostly because you just wouldn't tell him the truth, like he'd expect from the daughter of a friend. Rohirrim place much value on honesty", Father said, shaking his head. "I'm not surprised to hear he wouldn't listen. He's as stubborn as you, Lothíriel."

"Oh, I know that", she muttered. Then she lifted her eyes to look at her father, "Are you angry with me?"

Father didn't respond right away. Instead, he regarded her silently, until suddenly he leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"No, I'm not. You look like you've already received a fair share of anger and disappointment... and to be honest, I'm not too surprised to hear of this. It sounds like something you would do", he said gently. Lothíriel let out a hysterical little laugh at that, though the sound ended with more of a sob than a chuckle. She threw her arms about her dear father and hugged him tight.

"The important thing is that you know that you have acted wrong and tried to apologise", Father murmured. "I will perhaps have to make my own amends to him. But please, Lothíriel, can you promise me this won't reoccur?"

"Of course! I'll behave better from now on. I swear you can be proud of me again", she insisted. Then mumbling into his shoulder, "I'm sorry that I've been such a horrible daughter lately."

"It's all right, Lothíriel. I haven't been the best father either, what with the war and my constant absence in your life", he said gently, stroking her hair. "I promise it will change now that we finally have peace."

"You've been wonderful, Father. Really, you are", she said softly, seeking for the right words. "I know I don't say it very often, but... I'm thankful. For letting me be the way I am."

He held her a bit tighter then and his voice was full of emotion when he answered, "Daughter, I want you to be happy. And if being the Little Wolf is what makes you happy, then so be it. I just wonder if it can sustain you, when I'm no longer here."

"I'll be fine. I can take care of myself", she assured him and pulled back so that he could see her smile.

"Father, is any of your ships here in Minas Tirith? I... I'm thinking maybe it would be for the best I return to Dol Amroth, before I cause further damage", she said softly.

"_Star of Belfalas _is in Harlond. It is set to leave for our home tomorrow", he replied. Searching her face, Father asked: "Are you sure about it, daughter?"

"Yes. I think I have got enough of all these celebrations."

* * *

Marshal Elfhelm had been enjoying himself rather finely. The night was fair and there were many delightful little feasts taking place in the camp; he had already taken part to five different gatherings. Eorlingas were on a fine mood indeed, and he had heard some talk about how their King had been seen walking and then dancing with a lady from the city. Some overly imaginative fellows had already made their assumptions and apparently there was even a bet going on about when the royal wedding would take place.

This talk had roused Elfhem's curiosity, and now he was approaching the tent of his king and friend. For one, he wanted to know if the woman in question was the same archer from the woods, or if the young Lord of the Mark had already changed the target of his fancy – though that wasn't so likely. The moment Elfhelm had learned how his friend obsessed about this lady he had known it was serious.

Éothain, the captain of the King's Guard, was sat outside the tent. He was conversing with two of Éomer's riders when Elfhelm arrived. At the sight of the Marshal Éothain lifted up his eyes.

"If you're looking for the King, I must inform you he's not present", said the captain.

"Did he return to the Citadel already?" Elfhelm asked, taking a sip of mead from the flask he had acquired.

"No. He just grabbed his horse and rode away. Seemed angry", Éothain replied and sighed.

"And you let him go just like that?" demanded the Marshal, his voice rising. The captain shoot a sharp glance at him.

"Of course not – I sent couple of lads after him. I wasn't born yesterday, you know", Éothain snorted, and his words made Elfhelm relax. Of course he should have trusted the captain's judgement. Though the man was perhaps one of Éomer's best friends, he also appeared to possess the ability of putting aside that friendship and acting purely as a lieutenant. Still, after the misfortune that had fallen on Théoden and Théodred Elfhelm was sure no one was too enthusiastic to take any chances when it came to the safety of their king.

"Why was he angry, then?" asked the Marshal. He took seat as well and offered the flask to the captain, who took a long sip before answering.

"I'm not completely sure – he didn't say anything. But a lady was involved. You know that mysterious woman he keeps talking about? She was here and I gather they argued, what with the way she fled in tears... the delightful part, however, is that she's apparently none other than the daughter of Prince Imrahil. Her brother was here and they left together – I recognised her about as soon as I saw them together; they look so alike it's a wonder I didn't make the connection before now", Éothain explained.

Elfhelm had to process this information for a moment before he made the necessary connections – the mead and wine were dulling him down. But eventually he understood what it meant, as he too had heard of the scene in the parlour of Prince of Dol Amroth. Altogether he found he was rather relieved to hear this news, because from a purely political point of view a marriage to the daughter of Prince Imrahil was about the most brilliant thing the young Lord of the Mark could have done... and it cleared out the Marshal's concerns that in his stubbornness Éomer might insist on marrying a commoner and insulting collectively the Gondorian nobility in the process.

"Well", he said after a moment and another sip of his drink, "that certainly changes things."

The Marshal glanced at the Captain, "He wasn't glad that this mysterious lady wasn't a peasant after all?"

"Maybe he will be, when he has had time to think of it. You know how he gets sometimes – reacts before thinking. And wild stallions aren't always so wise when they realise they've been tamed", Éothain answered with a shrug.

Elfhelm nodded emphatically. He knew his king well enough to understand why a lady's pretence would cause such a reaction in him. This Lady Archer had obviously shot her arrows at the King too... and he was a man who rarely took blows of that kind.

Hopefully, when he had calmed down, Éomer too would realise the other side of what that meant.

He smiled and lifted up the flask, "To the future Queen of Rohan."

Éothain made a sound between a chuckle and a snort.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. You know how stubborn he can be", said the captain, but accepted the offered flask anyway. Elfhelm grinned.

"Oh, I do. And I am counting on it."

* * *

When Amrothos had first decided he'd take up the task of making his sister see how wonderfully her spirit matched that of King Éomer, he had forgotten the frustrating extent of her pig-headedness. Well, perhaps this was something he ought to have expected: it would have been a wonder if all would go smoothly between two people with so many rough edges. Stubborn to a fault, neither did not see the need for reconciliation... unless he could open their eyes before it was too late.

That morning, he stormed into Lothíriel's chamber. She was in the middle of packing her things, as she now had it in her head to go home and leave behind not only the city but also the man for whom she was rather obviously falling for.

She did not turn to look at him when he entered unannounced. The expression on her face was set as she continued folding her clothes in her travel chest.

"What is it, brother?" she asked in stony voice that was devoid of its usual colour and spirit.

"Oh, what do you think? I just came to watch you make a fool of yourself because you're just so stupidly headstrong that you keep running away from a good man who likes you very much", he answered sharply. She shot a glare at him for those words.

"Likes me very much? More likely he hates me very much now!" she snapped angrily.

"Of course he doesn't hate you!" Amrothos argued, wanting to shake her.

"You didn't see him! You didn't see how he looked at me!" Lothíriel exclaimed. "He told me to leave and that's what I'm going to do. I will not show my face before him again."

"Sister, don't you see how blind you're being?" he asked, exasperated. "You keep making the same mistake even now!"

"Amrothos, please", she said and the tone of her voice suddenly scared him. It was so small and weak and unlike her... so beaten. His brave, fierce little sister was reduced to a mouse.

And someone had to remind her she wasn't a mouse at all.

But now she was sniffling to herself and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"If you go now, you will regret it bitterly", he told her. She said nothing and concentrated again on folding her clothes.

Groaning to himself, Amrothos realised he wasn't going to get any help from her. Well, he should have guessed that anyway. Like he had told Legolas, the poor thing had absolutely no sense at all when it came to dealing delicately with men... and her own heart. It was foolish to have expected she'd have learned to do so overnight.

So, deciding he'd approach this from a different angle, he dashed out without further word. On the way, he ran past Aredhel, who tried to stop him: "Amrothos, where are you going?"

He yelled over his shoulder: "Sorry! I've got a horselord to catch!"

"What?!" asked his sister-in-law, but the prince grinned at her.

"I can't explain. Just take cover and watch the fireworks!"

* * *

"... and really, my King, it was just so _wonderful, _the way you came to our aid, and I wish I had been there to see your famous charge, everyone is talking about it, my lord, and I've never heard anything like that before, it's like from the Elder Days..."

The babbling just went on. Éomer had no idea what had been its starting point or where this monologue was even going; he had even forgotten the name of the lady providing him with this utterly bland account. As long as he made affirmative sounds every now and then it appeared she could go on forever.

His eyes were fixed on the statue of some long-dead queen, placed here in the royal garden where the gathering was enjoying refreshments ad sticky delicate pastries. Aragorn had invited some of the more important lords in the land to get to know them better, and he had asked his fellow king to join as well. Originally he hadn't meant to join the gathering but on the morrow he had been on a foul mood and the task of finding a queen had seemed particularly pressing.

But now, having endured this social event so far, he found his thoughts wandering ceaselessly away from this garden. A memory of last night would come to him, and with it he'd be reminded of a warm strong hand in his own, the grey eyes fixed on him and enchanting him... and the face of a woman he had so tried to make sense of yet failed.

_Lothíriel, the Princess of Dol Amroth... _when he thought of the name, all he could see was a mad orange-clad, veiled woman. Yet it explained so many things and he knew it could only be true.

"What do you say, my lord?" called the voice of the noble lady, and Éomer managed something of a smile for her.

"Very delightful indeed, my lady", he said, though he had no idea what she had been talking about. But apparently his answer was what she had wanted, and so she proceeded into yet another lengthy explanation.

It gave him some time to ponder more on what had taken place in his tent last night. Her confession, which had cleared out so many things... the stinging feeling of disappointment and anger, for this insane woman leading him on a merry chase for no good reason at all and messing with his head constantly... and he had been angry at himself too. Why hadn't he listened to her the first time when she had told him to leave her alone? She was a liar and a pretender and he did not know where that stupid obsession with her had come from.

And still the first thing he had thought this morning had been _her, _and the thought had been without a hint of anger.

"My lady", he said in a voice strong enough to interrupt the noblewoman who had been monologuing at him. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Yes, my King?" she asked.

"What do you know of the Princess of Dol Amroth?" he asked in the spur of the moment. He wasn't too surprised to see her wrinkle her nose in distaste.

"I haven't met her, my lord", said the noble lady, "but I hear she's one of the more atrocious things to have happened to the Gondorian courts. She's of very high birth yet she's wild and unruly, and her father even lets her bear arms... she has very little manners for a lady of her status. I would not recommend getting acquainted with her, my lord. The Princess Lothíriel is trouble. Not to mention a very poor dancer."

At that Éomer very nearly snorted. Well, perhaps she was a poor dancer as far as Gondorian court dances went, but she had done just fine when they had danced to the Rohirric tune back in the camp... but that thought made him want to slap himself. Hadn't he made a decision to forget about that nonsensical woman for good?

But now he had to ask himself: was that decision rooted in a foolish wounded pride or reason? He couldn't tell, which was truly worrisome.

This thought did nothing for his mood, and more than that it also gave voice to something that had been growing at the back of his mind ever since the morning. _Perhaps it didn't matter at all. _

"May I ask you to walk with me for a bit?" he inquired the lady, if just to clear his thoughts for a bit. Not to mention the sugary pastries had left him with an unpleasant, heavy feeling; such food, if it could be called that, certainly wasn't something he ate often.

"Most certainly, my lord!" she answered and took his arm in delight. Slowly, they trailed down the path through the garden. Like most things in this city it looked like a result of intricate engineering planning. It travelled in stern straight lines, and flower beds and statues and other such things meant for pleasing the eye were arrayed around it in an orderly fashion that made him feel someone must have measured their distances with a rod or something of the sort.

"My King, does your land have many gardens?" asked the lady by his side. Éomer shook his head.

"Not beyond the necessary kitchen orchards, my lady", he replied. "Weathers are not as mild as here, so I doubt most of these flowers would even survive in the Mark. There is a small garden in Meduseld, but I'm afraid it has received very little attention past few years."

He briefly recalled a time Éowyn had tried her hand in gardening. She had possessed little patience for it and thinking back he now perceived it was more out of a desperate need of finding some outlet for all the shadows that haunted her mind. Obviously the gardening project had not survived long. Now, however, the things were different. Conversations with her had proved Éowyn already had great many plans for when she'd live with Faramir in Ithilien, and those shadows she had carried had transformed into a wish for healing and growing. It was good to see her so full of hope and plans.

They had now arrived to the stone railing at the edge of the garden, from which one could see the Court of Fountain below and also the great city expanding before them. It was a beautiful city and rightly called the greatest that now existed in Middle-earth, but what wonder he still had left for seeing it was now mixed with longing for his own home. Well, not for Meduseld in particular, because it was years since he had lived there and most likely it would feel like a dwelling of ghosts when he'd return, but for Rohan itself: the plains and the brooks and vales and groves and rivers... the ever-present wind chasing the clouds over the rolling hills, the great wall of mountains to west, and the sky blazing with the setting sun.

"... my lord?" asked the lady, bringing him back from those thoughts of home.

"I beg your pardon. Would you please repeat what you said, my lady?" he replied, doing his best to form a charming smile for her. Homesickness or insane princesses were no excuse to forget his manners. In truth out of the two of them she wasn't even such bad company – _he _was, what with the way his mind constantly wandered away.

"I was just asking whether you could tell me more of Rohan, my King", she said, quickly smoothing away the frown that had risen to her face. He sighed to himself; looking at this woman he knew she'd be a fantastic queen. She'd bring grace and beauty and order into his household. She was probably more than competent in all the skills noblewoman could possibly need. Why couldn't someone like her stir him, make his mind and heart run wild? Why did it have to be an unladylike princess who rode like an Eorling and punched men who annoyed her and tried to pose as a people-hating bush?

_You know why. _

It was not this woman's fault, and anyway she'd probably have hated the Mark. She'd have missed the stone city and its gardens, the long-haired and loud-voiced Rohirrim would have put her off, and in the end he'd probably have just scared her with good many things.

But he forced aside those thoughts and in a strained voice he started: "Rohan is a very beautiful land, my lady..."

He didn't get to continue that sentence much longer than that, because his eyes suddenly fell on a figure of a man down below, waving his arms at him. Then came shout: "My lord! My lord! King Éomer"

To his surprise, Éomer recognised the shouting fellow as Imrahil's youngest son.

"Prince Amrothos", he called back, "what are you shouting about?"

The noise had attracted some attention now. The lady beside him at least had fallen completely silent and was gazing from him to Amrothos and back. Some of the other guests had also approached to see what the shouting was.

"She's leaving the city, my lord! Today!" Amrothos bellowed from below so that the entire Citadel seemed to be echoing with his shout.

"What are you talking about?" Éomer demanded, frowning at the prince's words.

"My sister of course! She's going back to Dol Amroth and she's convinced you hate her!" he shouted. Now this display was starting to raise a soft chatter, but the King of Rohan paid no heed. Instead, he was staring at the young man down below. Princess Lothíriel was leaving the city...

It was then he felt a presence on his right side, and turning his face he saw Legolas. He hadn't seen the Elf attending the gathering, but perhaps the Elven Prince was here just to enjoy the fair garden. He too was far away from his home after all, and maybe the stone city raised similar feelings of yearning for home. In this city of stone a dweller of the Woodland Realm must have found green things all the more precious.

"I beg your pardon, my lady", said Legolas in a soft melodious voice to the noblewoman who was now looking at them both with something that resembled terrified suspicion. The Elf continued, "I know I am interrupting you, but I must speak with the King."

"Oh... just... go ahead, my lord", said the poor lady, and slowly backed away. Éomer had a feeling that was the last he'd discuss with this woman.

Legolas' voice re-engaged his attention then.

"She is young and perhaps a bit foolish. But something tells me she's worth it", commented the Elf softly. That Legolas knew of this matter did not surprise him too much, though he was starting to wonder just how widely was it known what was happening in his... well, one couldn't perhaps call it love life, really. Be it as may, this show by Amrothos had probably made sure all of the city would know before the night had fallen. He couldn't decide if he should be angry about that.

Still, altogether this was a matter he wasn't sure he wanted counsel about, though Legolas seemed determined to give it anyway. When the young king regarded the Elf, Legolas was watching him in a way that felt like his mind was being read.

"You have always been able to follow your heart's judgement in the important choices of your life, haven't you? And it has lead you well?" asked the Elf slowly after a moment of silence.

"Aye. That is true", Éomer answered quietly... and he already knew where this would go.

"Well then", Legolas said, and there was a faint smile on his fair face, "what does it say now?"

* * *

The journey down to Harlond was made quickly enough. Lothíriel had said goodbye to her father, Aredhel and her brothers except for Amrothos. He had run off somewhere, for which she was sorry. She'd have liked to bid farewell to him too before leaving. However, the ship wouldn't stand in the harbour just waiting for her, and so she, her handmaiden Bainiel, and the guards Father had sent to escort her had departed.

The docks of Harlond were busy and bustling as one of her guards tried to make way through it. Though it was now some weeks since the war had ended, it seemed like the flood of people and goods from south was not going to diminish any time soon. It wasn't only that though: traffic from the North had received a boost as well, and Lothíriel remembered overhearing her father talking about King Elessar's plans on how the trading routes to north could be improved, and if ports could be established to the upriver of Anduin. Seeing all this life caused her some regret for making the decision of going back to Dol Amroth. Looking at Bainiel confirmed the poor girl was regretting her mistress' choice to leave as well.

But she told herself it was necessary. She had to leave behind this city, and especially the man whose presence filled even her chambers. She needed some place safe, where she could make what sense there was to be made of all this... and then she would carry on.

"My lady. There is the _Star", _said her guard then, pointing at the ship at the dock. It was a low, wide ship meant for travelling on Anduin, and its pennant carried the small swan symbol to signify it was one of the Prince of Dol Amroth's ships. It was nothing like the tall proud ships that guarded the coasts and voyaged the high seas.

"Good. Let's go, then", Lothíriel said, leading her mare towards the ship waiting for them.

Upon their arrival, a man she presumed was the ship's captain approached them. He was a nice-looking fellow, about Amrothos' height, and his hair greying; his eyes glinted with a light she could only call _the sea. _

"I am Captain Uinost. Do I have the honour of addressing to the Princess Lothíriel?" he asked.

"Indeed you do, Captain", she answered with a slight smile, though she wasn't so sure if this really was such a great honour. But the captain needn't know that.

"Welcome aboard, my lady. We should be ready to sail shortly. Your cabin is ready, if you would like to see it", he said and bowed.

"Thank you, captain", Lothíriel managed, and with her small company she made for the ship.

Once aboard, she didn't make for the cabin, though. As far as travelling on ship went the departure had always been her favourite part, and she liked to watch the men as they prepared the marine vehicle for the journey. It was the time spent travelling she didn't look forward to, because especially the journey on Anduin was in her opinion rather tedious.

Wishing for some time alone she dismissed Bainiel and her guards and instead chose a spot by the rail by the port-side of the ship where she could observe the preparations without being in anyone's way. From there she watched the port and felt regretful. What had this journey to Minas Tirith benefited? She had made a complete fool of herself, and she had earned the hatred of a man who... who was...

She couldn't finish that thought. Stubbornly she rubbed at her eyes, to keep away that moistness that again threatened to pour out. _I never cry this much. Stupid man. _

At last the brow from the dock to the ship was removed and the anchor raised, and ship was made ready to depart... but then suddenly she heard some exclamations and the area at the pier cleared of people: two riders had arrived, their great warhorses scaring away the crowd with their mere size. And there was the King of Rohan, scanning the docks in urgency. Dressed in formal attire but bearing this wind-blown countenance, she knew he must have raced here from some social gathering up at the Citadel, and that realisation hit her hard and made her tremble. Frozen where she stood, Lothíriel understood the thing he was looking for was _she. _

"You!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing here!"

Her shout instantly captured his attention and his eyes fixed on her. And he dared to grin at her! Lothíriel didn't know whether she wanted to shake or kiss the man. Probably both, and preferably in recursion.

"I came to speak with you, of course!" he shouted back. "Who said you may leave the city just like that?"

"I did! I go when and wherever I please!" Lothíriel informed him. He seemed frustrated.

"Get back here at once!" demanded the King.

"Certainly not! I'm not turning around this ship just for you!" she replied. Their shouting had already attracted quite a crowd and even the crew of the ship had hard time concentrating on their duties.

A fierce, determined look came to the face of the horselord and he turned around his horse. For one instance Lothíriel thought he had changed his mind about this and was going to leave... but then he raised his voice: "Make way!"

_Oh no. He wouldn't.  
_

The great stallion galloped down the pier all the way to the edge of it, and he leaped, and his flight was long as a year as he crossed the distance between the quay and the deck... until at last he landed there in the ship and Lothíriel was deafened by the screams of the crowd. But as the man and his horse made it safely screams turned into laughter and wild cheering.

Lothíriel stared. For the longest moment she could not say or even move – she could only stand there and gape at this... this lunatic! There he sat on his horse, looking both majestic like only a man of Rohan on a horse could and yet he was an immensely absurd _because this was a ship_. The crew was apparently similarly indisposed, until Captain Uinost came running and demanded: "Why in the name of Uinen is there a horse on my ship?!"

"You are completely insane!" managed the princess at last. "Don't you realise you could have got yourself killed!"

"Yes, I am. But I am not letting you go before I've talked with you, my dear Lady Princess, even if it does indeed end me!" announced the maddening horselord and dismounted. He glanced at the captain, "I apologise for this, captain. It was not my intention to inconvenience you, but I really must speak with the Princess."

Lothíriel judged the captain was too astonished to be angry about this turn of events.

"I... I suppose it is all right, my lord of Rohan", Uinost said, barely able to speak from his bewilderment.

"Well, I didn't agree to talk with you!" Lothíriel tried weakly, though she too was still flabbergasted. But the man had startled her too – for a moment she had been certain she'd go down in history as a woman who caused the King of Rohan to get himself killed in a most insane display of horsemanship.

"Then I will not speak", he growled, and with one long stride he was on the front of her; and his arms were like bands of iron when he lifted her up and kissed her, there on the deck of a ship that was supposed to take her back to Dol Amroth, and they still had the audience of the size of the entire port... but then thoughts of them fell away, for the King of the horselords was kissing her and he tasted of something sweet and his lips on her own were just as hungry and demanding as she had hoped they would be, and her breath came as quick gasps whenever he ceased with this very mouthful assault... it was all teeth and tongues and her head was dizzy, until at last it occurred to Lothíriel that the ship was moving away from the docks and now there was a king on board.

So, when the annoying man pulled back slightly – though he didn't lower her down on her own feet – she peeked around his wide shoulder at Captain Uinost (poor man didn't seem to know whether he should laugh or be angry).

"Captain, can I perhaps ask you to bring the ship back to the port? I should not want the Rohirrim thinking I've kidnapped their king and am intending to whisk him away to south", she asked, trying not to mind how croaky her voice sounded.

"As you command, my lady", Uinost answered in carefully guarded tone and turned to shout commands for his men.

At last the King of Rohan lowered her down on her feet. There were flames in his eyes, burning and just about contained. _He had kissed her... and she had liked it. _

But none of it made any sense, not after how angry he had been with her last night. Sweet Elbereth! Why couldn't this man stop for five minutes and cease with his nonsensical ways? Moreover, why did he have to keep on confusing her so insolently?

She didn't get to dwell on these questions for too long nor did she have a chance of gathering her calm, because he spoke at last: "Now, my lady, I would like to talk with you, and settle everything for good."

* * *

**A/N: **And here's some reactions at last! I hope it was an enjoyable read. :)

When I began to think of how Éomer would react to hearing the truth I hesitated between a positive and a negative response. I suppose a case could be made fo the positive reaction but in the end I decided to go the way you see here. After all, their dynamics in this piece so far has been defined by unpredictability and electric chemistry, so I chose to write him initially being angry... but then, when he gets a moment to cool down and think of it he eventually understands it doesn't matter. Hence came also Lothíriel's sudden decision to leave for Dol Amroth. At this point, due to their personalities and their attempts to figure out each other do cause some extreme reactions and decisions. Well, if there was no drama there wouldn't be a story either!

I know Lothíriel remains reluctant still, but perhaps that is understandable. Of course we as readers like to see her together with Éomer, but from her point of view it _is _an enormous choice. It's not only a marriage to a man who comes from a different culture, but also a marriage to a king. And for someone like Lothíriel, to a person who has never given particular thought to the possibility of marrying anyone, it's not something she just clears out instantly.

Also as you can see Imrahil isn't actually too angry about things - she understands the fault in her ways after all and has apologised. I must say her worry that he'd be so was mostly just Lothíriel making a mountain out of molehill. I believe that's sort of understandable considering the situation.

Still, if she remains indecisive we do have things going somewhere at least, and we have the first kiss too, hopefully you, my dear readers, liked that! :)

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

Inspiration for the chapter: Jennifer O'Connor - Between the Church and the River

Quote in the beginning originally by Jane Evershed.

* * *

**The Hare and the Otter - **Hopefully this is along the line what you wished for!

**Talia119 - **I'm a writer. Cliffies are what I do. :D

**wondereye - **Oh yes, Éomer has far more clear ideas what he wants to happen than Lothíriel does. :)

**Le Pleiade - **Hopefully the road I chose makes at least sense to you. I think he's going to be amused, once he has had time to think things through.

**Nakita - **I'm glad to hear that! Sometimes I just feel like people aren't as "in" the character's head as I am (which is probably understandable, it's my story after all), and my view is that people aren't always rational, especially not in highly emotional situations which are new to them. Personally I find it more realistic that people don't necessarily move from A to B in their thought processes and reactions - they might stray to D or E and then understand the fault in what they have thought and done, and get back to where they started. Also I think that's not only more interesting to read, but also to write.

**Kiiimberly - **He is... eventually. :D


	9. Chapter 8

Then love knew it was called love.  
And when I lifted my eyes to your name,  
suddenly your heart showed me my way.

- "The Poetess"

* * *

**Chapter 8**

There was lots of staring.

Well, that wasn't really surprising after the scene they had just caused, and Lothíriel knew all of the city would have heard of it before the day had ended. Determined not to let her father hear of it by some second hand source, King Éomer had sent the one rider who had come with him to bring word to Prince Imrahil. He had given the message in Rohirric so Lothíriel could but wonder what was the content of it, because she was sure there was no way to make any of this sound less absurd or scandalous.

After the ship had docked again and they had apologised to Captain Uinost and his crew, they had landed again in the port, and Lothíriel had tried to gaze at everything that wasn't the curious eyes of the crowd; obviously busy mouths were always weaving tales of this little scene that was quite something even for her, though it wasn't the first time she knew her antics were under larger scrutiny.

Anyway, it was obvious the conversation with the King of Rohan was due, and he had asked her to join him in the Rohirric camp.

"I would rather talk with you somewhere more private than this, my lady", he told her as they stood on the docks and her horse was brought back from the animal shed under the deck.

"Very well then", she agreed and sighed to herself. She had no idea of where this all would go, but at least the kiss had reassured her perhaps it could be something good. So, sending Bainiel and the one of her guards back to the city (the other she took along, because obviously she needed an escort now that she was making a formal appearance).

As they rode and left behind the port of Harlond Lothíriel felt kind of a crawling inside herself, and recognised it as her nerves making an appearance. She did not know for sure why they were announcing themselves now, considering what had happened on the deck of _Star of Belfalas; _she couldn't think a kiss like _that _could mean something awful would follow. And yet... as she glanced at the man riding beside her she was not able to shake off the doubtful feeling. It wasn't the prospect of sharing an honest conversation with him, nor the idea of more kissing (that sounded nice actually)... eventually, she understood: it was because she was now entering waters she did not know, and the outcome of talking things through with him could result in consequences that defined her life beyond more than just this or next year.

Still, as this feeling grew in her chest, she couldn't but glance again at the King of Rohan, and note the easy grace of his posture, how sunlight made his hair shine, the alienness and the wonderfulness of him... rooted all in that _not Gondorian _air that had been there from the beginning to draw her to him.

If he asked her to follow him now, she knew it would be very difficult to say no. And a small voice at the back of her head asked: _would it really be such a bad choice, then?_

It was already afternoon when they arrived to the Rohirric camp and Lothíriel could see some surprise on the faces of men who took their horses – that at least illuminated the spontaneous nature of this thing: the King wasn't supposed to be here, he ought to be up at in the palace attending to his friend King Elessar and the high nobility... and yet he was here, with her, making sure that the court would have enough things to be horrified at for an entire year.

He spoke then, focusing his eyes on Lothíriel, "Perhaps we could walk for a bit?

"Yes", she agreed in a soft little voice, and in silent agreement they headed outside the camp for some privacy. Her guard trailed after the, along with one Rohirric rider.

A silence passed between them as they walked ahead, and King Éomer kept his eyes ahead. Lothíriel stared towards a point in horizon as well, wondering if she should be the one to start this conversation, or if she should wait for him to say something. He solved that problem at least, when he turned his head so that he could see her, and broke the silence.

"I must confess, I keep wondering why I didn't see it before. You do look like..." he started gingerly and made a bewildered little gesture towards her. Somehow that made her relax a bit and she chortled.

"Like an actual princess when I'm properly dressed?" she asked. "It's just because I have a very good maidservant. Sometimes I think her sole purpose in life is to make me look like I actually had manners and grace."

He let out a soft snort-like sound.

"Forgive me, my lady. I still have some difficulty putting together the princess and the one who called herself Little Wolf", he said, but then narrowed his eyes in doubt, "Was that true at any rate?"

"It was", she said softly, feeling sudden hurt that he'd still have doubts about her. But then, he was entitled to it, after the merry chase she had lead him on. "I always spoke truth when... when you thought I was some mad archer woman, Sire."

"That _was _the real you then, wasn't it?" he asked. "The one who spoke things with such painful honesty, and always saw right through me..."

This seemed to be some kind of an epiphany to him, and Lothíriel wondered what he was thinking now. But she didn't know how to ask, because even now, after their paths had already entwined in so strange ways, she was...

Lothíriel realised she was slightly scared. And she had never liked being scared.

"To be honest, I'm still not sure I understand the reasoning behind your pretences, my lady", he confessed, studying her face intently, but Lothíriel knew she'd have stumbled on her feet if she had met his gaze. So she turned again to look ahead.

"Well, I'm not sure my reasons were too good in the end. I tried to tell myself it was all because I was scared of what you'd think of me if you knew. I didn't want you to know the wild little princess who has no manners, because I believed it'd make you think less of my father", she said softly. This apparently made no sense to him (which was understandable) and from the corner of her eye she saw King Éomer blinking at her, but then a smile came to his face.

"Princess, if I want manners there are dozens of noble ladies ready to offer them to me at all hours of the day. Why do you think I kept asking for your name?" asked the King.

"But... but don't you want a proper noblewoman? One who commands the etiquette efficiently and knows what to say and how to act?" she wondered out loud. Wasn't that what all high lords like him wanted? But then, he was different. Nothing about him so far had been like what she was used to.

At that point he stopped walking and placed hand on her shoulder, and Lothíriel halted too. Very carefully he turned her face towards himself.

"I don't want any ice-woman who is so petrified in her ways and propriety that it's like she was more statue than a living and breathing person. I want _life. _And since I came to this land, I have not met another woman who is quite so alive as you are. You are so... you're so full of life and spirit and fire, and it takes my breath away", he said softly. His eyes were fixed on her and in those dark depths there was a great light. Ever so gently, he lifted his hand and brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. He spoke again, even softer this time, "I do not think your father was right when he called you Little Wolf. No, you're not a wolf at all. You're Lioness."

For one moment longer than eternity his gaze kept her under their spell, and she was nearly lost in the dark vivid eyes of the King of Rohan. The touch of his hand was a tender one for a warrior, and she let out a breath she hadn't noticed holding. But then something revolted in her, and she practically jumped back.

"You're far too familiar with me, you straw-brained oaf!" she exclaimed. Those words came out as if on their own, and in them was mixed all her uncertainty, all her fears, and most of all there was that word that had haunted the back of her mind: _queen. _

Because taking his hand now would mean a road she couldn't turn away from, and she had told Amrothos she didn't want crowns. She couldn't... she wasn't...

It roused terror in her and she turned, with the very serious attempt of dashing back into the camp and taking her horse, and then running, running far away from this man, and she'd find a place where her heart would not speak in these volumes... there the silence would deafen her, there would be no crowns, and that accursed word would cease to exist...

"Lothíriel!"

The sound of his voice when he called her name froze her right there. There it was, her name on his lips... the name he had so many times asked for.

Despite herself, she turned to glance at him over her shoulder. Oh, what a sight he was; when he was so filled with emotion, it seemed to her he took even more space than usually. In this golden light of sun he was radiant as Arien far above; his eyes pierced her now, and in them there was fire.

"What?" she asked, just barely able to use her voice. He moved then, sharp and fast, and if possible his fiery spirit burned even more intense. He stopped beside her, lay his hands on her shoulders and turned her so that he could look at her properly.

"I love you", he told her, without flowery language or lengthy confessions: just the truth blurted out in a most straight-forward manner she had ever witnessed.

"I- I don't understand", she mumbled, though she certainly did, but she said that mostly out of just saying anything at all.

"I love you. Do you hear me, Lothíriel? This straw-brained oaf of a man loves you!" he told her heatedly. And his eyes were wide and vivid and had embers that would burn her, the kind of burn she knew now she'd welcome should she succumb... but even more so, there was honesty and desperateness in that dark gaze that would not let go of her.

_He really loved her. _

In one moment that was somehow longer and larger than life itself she could see it – how easy it would have been to give in. And there was an entire future staring back at her: wedding this man, loving him, being his Queen. He wouldn't hate it that some days she might smell worse than he did or that she'd rather wear leggings instead of a gown. No, to him it was all the same... as long as she _was. He loved her. _

"My lord, I..." she started at last, but her voice came out hoarse and weak and the words dissolved even as she tried to grasp at them. Her mind had become empty, and all attempts just curled around the fact that King Éomer was standing before her, his presence had stunned her, and the knowledge she held in her hands his heart.

_King of Rohan... _

"Please, say something", he said at last. He sounded slightly scared now too, and it was not hard to guess why that was.

"Sire, I can't... you have to give me a little bit of space", she said at last. "I need to think of this. Some place where I... I can't do it with you here. You have a ruinous effect on me, and I have a need of my wits."

"Is that a no, then?" he asked quietly, colour draining from his voice.

"... I don't know", Lothíriel said. There was a tight feeling in her chest and she thought she might start crying again some time soon. Why had this all be so confusing!

She looked up at him then; his eyes were still on her, and he looked sad.

"My lord, I will not say yes or no to you yet. I really do have to take a step back and think of all this", she told him as gently as she could. Then noticing movement from the corner of her eye she glanced towards the direction of the city and saw a small group of riders approaching. On the front of them was carried silver and blue pennant she knew very well. With a sigh, she turned again to face the King, "And I have a strong feeling my father will agree about this as well."

* * *

Éowyn found him in the middle of the task of honing his sword. That was of course something he could have left for the attention of his esquire, but Éomer held the notion he could have received the kingship of entire world and he would still care for his weapons himself. It had been one of the first lessons he had received: a warrior did not surrender that task to anyone else.

Also, perhaps his sword should be sharp for when Imrahil came to speak with him, as the Prince had announced upon retrieving his errant daughter.

"Thinking of princesses, brother?" asked Éowyn as she entered, and as he wasn't so sure of how he should react he just made a scoffing sound and concentrated again on his sword.

Quietly, she sat opposite him and considered him, and for a while he tried to pretend it didn't bother him. But eventually he had to look up and frown at her.

"What is it?" asked the young king

"I'm just trying to understand all this – and decide if it's a wise thing that's happening here", Éowyn said at last. Her eyes remained fixed on him.

"And why wouldn't it be?" Éomer asked nonchalantly.

"I don't know", she said softly. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm not here to tell you what you should or shouldn't do. I know you'll do as you deem best."

"Then what are you even talking about?" he inquired, slightly impatient now.

"I was just wondering... you're really sure about this? And her? You know a lot of people back in the Mark would like to see one of our own as your queen", Éowyn said tentatively. He shot a sharp glance at her.

"What, so it's only you then who gets to choose as you wish?" he demanded sharply, but as soon as that question was out of his mouth he regretted it. So he hurried off to apologise, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

With some chagrin he looked down and sighed heavily.

But Éowyn reached for his arm and her gentle touch assured him she wasn't hurt by his sharp words.

"Of course I want you to be happy, brother", she told him in soft tones that strangely reminded him of their late mother. Sometimes Éowyn was a lot like her, though she didn't really seem to notice that herself.

"I know that", he replied and looked up again. She didn't seem like she had taken offence, which made him feel relieved. However, her words still troubled him and he sought her face, "What makes you tell me this anyway? Have you heard something I should know of?"

"No. Not really. I just have this feeling", Éowyn said, her brow creasing. "I worry a lot for you, Éomer. Maybe it's a silly thing but I do. And I keep wondering how things will be in the next year, and the year after it. It's not to say I don't trust you and your judgement – I know you'll be a good king. But these past few years have so torn our people and I don't think it's going to be easy to heal those wounds."

"And you think the best way to achieve that would be by marrying a woman of the Mark?" he asked.

"Like I said, I don't know", she sighed and pulled back, but the frown did not disappear from her face.

"It would be a good match, though. Princess Lothíriel is Imrahil's daughter, after all. And we will need Gondor's aid to recover fully", Éomer told her. "I think our people would love her, if they just got to see her. She is... sometimes I look at her and think she must have more than just one Eorling ancestor somewhere in her line. You know she's not like the rest of this court."

"I do, and I know you're right. But our people don't know her. All they will see is the name of her father. They will expect a proper lady of Gondor", Éowyn pointed out.

"And that's why I'm going to ask her to visit Rohan. All of the Mark will see that there's none like her", he insisted.

A slight smile appeared on the face of Éowyn.

"I hope you're right, brother."

* * *

Rain softly drizzled outside, painting the garden of Father's house grey. Absent-mindedly Lothíriel watched the trickle of raindrops down the window, allowing her mind wander. She was sat on the window board, hugging her knees close to her chest.

Her mind did not remain on that wandering path for long. Instead it turned to yesterday and the conversation with the King of Rohan... how Father's arrival had interrupted it as he had come to take his unruly daughter home. She had expected him to be angry, and perhaps he had initially been, what with the way she ran back and forth like the headless chicken. But when he had come there and seen not only her but also the man who loved her, Father had...

Lothíriel mused he had seen something there on their faces, and he had understood somehow. He had asked if she'd come home now and she had said yes. She had murmured farewell to the Lord of the Mark, which words he had returned dispassionately. As soon as she had her horse she had ridden back to the city with Father and told him she was sorry. When she said the King had effectively proposed to her he hadn't even seemed surprised.

She had seen him going out that evening and Amrothos ratted out Father had gone to meet King Éomer; when she had seen him at breakfast she hadn't asked what they had talked about or if there was some agreement between them.

And the question remained: what should she do now?

"Thinking of horse-lords, sister?" asked the voice of Amrothos from the door with the effect of distracting her endlessly mulling mind, but she didn't bother turning to look at him. Instead, Lothíriel just snorted as an answer.

Her brother made way to the window and sat down beside her. She could feel his eyes on him but still she didn't grant him a glance.

"Do you know what's the gossip of the day?" he asked. At last the princess gave him a brief look.

"Brother, whenever have I shown interest in the court gossip?" she asked back. "If you want to tattle, go find someone who actually finds that worth their while."

He rolled his eyes at her words.

"Oh, please. Your ignorant act isn't fooling me and you know that", he told her patiently. "You know very well all they have talked about since yesterday was that scene you and the King of Rohan put up in Harlond. It's not just that, though. They're coming up with most wondrous tales – you wouldn't believe half of it."

"Amrothos, I have no idea why you would think I have any interest in what people know or what they think they know", Lothíriel said, trying for an unaffected tone. "Not to mention I'm not sure what makes you believe I really need to hear your opinion on the love life of King Éomer."

"Oh, I believe I have all the right to inform you of my opinions, considering I'm the one who sent him after you in the stables the other day, and how I asked Legolas to talk with you... also, how do you think the King happened to Harlond just when you were about to leave?" he asked and chuckled to himself.

She grimaced and let out a groan. Of course she should have known he wouldn't be able to keep his nose off this matter.

"But it's all gone so wrong – I'm always screaming at him or running away from him and it's not... this is not how it's supposed to go", she mumbled weakly.

"How is it supposed to go then? Sister, knowing the two of you screaming at each other is not a problem. As a matter of fact both of you are so insane that such an encounter is only ever going to make you obsess about each other – which, I believe, has already been proved by this chase he has given you. You must have realised already he admires women as spirited as you... and ultimately you could never hate a man who can handle you in the middle of one of your rampages. In other words, you're practically made for each other", Amrothos said. Well, a lot of what he said made sense in a way, but she'd be damned if she admitted to thinking so.

"Your imagination is running wild, brother", she said and looked away so that he wouldn't see the doubt in her eyes.

"I don't know why you keep denying it. It's obvious as the daylight and everyone knows already. Lothíriel, you are just as aware of this as I am. Éomer King fancies you! And I think you fancy him back!" he announced triumphantly.

The princess groaned and hid her face in her hands.

"It's none of your business! Would you just leave it be!" she wailed in frustration.

"Really, sister, I don't see what your problem is here. He's a good man – temperamental of course, and kind of insane, but that should suit you just fine. He's absurd enough even for your tastes... and I don't think there's any other man in the western lands who could stand against you on your more boisterous moments quite as finely", said her brother, grinning widely. "Not to mention Father likes him too. You can't really dream of a better match."

"Please, just let it go. I don't need your opinion on this", Lothíriel tried, kind of miserably. The worst thing was that Amrothos was _right. _

"You're being nonsensical, sister. Really, what's the matter? What is this about" he asked and his voice became gentler.

"Because I've treated him horribly all this time. And I can't be a queen. I don't... it's just... Amrothos, I'm scared where this road would take me", she mumbled, feeling small and weak.

Gently, he lay his hand on hers and gave it squeeze.

"Why? Why are you scared of where it might take you? Let's be honest here, sister. A Gondorian man would never make you happy, but in Rohan you'd be free to be who you are. In fact, I think Éomer would only love you more for it. And I see that you like him too. Otherwise you wouldn't try to deny it so fiercely. Lothíriel, he might be your only chance of ever marrying for love", he told her solemnly.

"But what if I don't want to marry? I never thought that would be an option for me, anyway. And you do realise what it would mean? He's king! I don't think I'd make a very good queen... Amrothos, it's just too uncertain. I like him, yes... but is that enough? I would be a disappointment to him and to everyone..." she murmured, looking down. Somehow those words brought a choking feeling to her and she let out a trembling breath.

Her brother placed a hand on her own. When she glanced at him he was smiling.

"You make it sound like the wedding would be tomorrow if you allowed him close. And who says you have to wed him? Give him a chance to woo you – see what kind of a man he is, though I think you have a good idea of that already. You must stop running away, because it's only going to make you both miserable. Lothíriel, if you let him go now you _are _going to regret it. Maybe you don't see it yourself now, but I know you well enough. And that's what going to happen", he told her.

Amrothos was right. His logic was sound and attempts to find faults in his words only resulted in a growing feeling that maybe she _was _making a mistake here, clinging so stubbornly to her doubts and fears. She thought about the King... well, not the crown part, nor the marriage thing. Just _him – _his smiles and laughter and voice, the warmth of his eyes and his hands that had a tender touch and how being enveloped in his arms stirred a part of her she had barely known to exist...

These thoughts felt like he was here, and Lothíriel remembered how _easy _it could be when they spoke and were alone, and her resistance crumbled; something inside her heart unclenched. There was simple beauty to it all, the kind she had not seen before now because of her stubborn insistence to keep her eyes closed.

She was not left to ponder on this epiphany for long, for the door of the parlour was opened and a servant of the household entered. He bowed at the two children of Imrahil, and then spoke: "A messenger sent by the King of Rohan is at the door. He says the King sends his regards, and would like to know if the Princess of Dol Amroth will tonight attend to his farewell feast."

Lothíriel glanced quickly at Amrothos, as if she somehow needed his support. His smile widened and he patted her shoulder encouragingly – it wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking.

So she took a deep breath and looked back to the servant.

"You may tell this messenger to bring a word to the King that the Princess will indeed attend."

* * *

Merethrond was already bustling with people when Lothíriel and Amrothos arrived, side by side. The hall had been cleared of tables and instead space had been made for socialising and likely even dancing. But Lothíriel made little notice of it: instead, her eyes were scanning the hall cautiously.

Indeed, as the herald called her and Amrothos' name, many heads turn towards the pair of doors she and her brother were standing at. She nearly winced at the realisation that he had not exaggerated when he had said the whole city was talking about the moment's social event (which, of course, was the dealings of King of Rohan with the noble ladies – or just one of them). But she lifted her chin and decided curious eyes and mutterings she could endure.

Mostly, she endured because of the look she was receiving from the King himself. She had almost instantly spotted him in the crowd, because he always stood out, and his eyes were fixed on her too. But there was no curiosity or judgement on his face. Rather, his gaze shone with great light and he seemed happy to see her. Sometimes it surprised her, how this man lived with such a passion and held back none of his emotions; there was a fire burning in him, and she thought he was more alive than any other man in this hall.

"Well, sister?" asked Amrothos softly as they made their way towards the King of the horselords.

"We'll see", she replied to him, though it looked like he already knew. He grinned at her.

"Have fun", he whispered to her and then left her side, and she approached the golden-haired man alone. Her heart was now beating faster and there was a strange breathless feeling in her chest. But then she met the gaze of the King and the warmth she saw there encouraged her, and a slow little smile made its way on her face.

And then at last she was nearing him and almost like out of instinct but certainly without thinking he extended a hand towards her... the palm of his hand offered to her, and Lothíriel wasn't sure she'd be able to let go if she took it now. One moment more she hesitated, but then her doubts fled in the light of his eyes, so honest and true, and she took his hand and sealed her fate.

* * *

Imrahil's face had been solemn when he had arrived to talk with the King of Rohan as evening had fallen, and even without the solemn expression on the Prince's face he had known what it was about. Indeed, as soon as he had offered a drink to his friend and they were sat, Imrahil asked for his version of events of late. At first he was worried this all might have somehow insulted the man, especially considering his rather shameless actions of the day... but as he had explained what had transpired between him and Lothíriel and that he had effectively proposed to her, a smile had eventually come to Imrahil's face.

He had reached over and patted the arm of the young king and said: "That's all I really needed to hear, my friend."

That had surprised Éomer at least, as he had expected Imrahil might be angry and accuse him of dishonouring his daughter and whatnot, and he had voiced out this concern. But the Prince had just given him a friendly look.

"The only dishonour you would do to her and to me if you now backed away. I see it now, my friend, as I should have realised the moment I saw you for the first time. If my dear, wild daughter might ever love anyone it's you..." he had spoken softly. He fell silent then, but soon continued talking.

"You should probably thank Amrothos for all this. He spoke to me after we came home, and explained how it was his actions that initiated what happened in Harlond. He has much faith in you, and he asked me to do the same. Amrothos knows Lothíriel perhaps better than anyone, and he has always had a way for handling her the way I never could. So, I have decided to trust him in this matter", said Imrahil softly. Then he smiled again, "My daughter has her own way of doing things, and I've long since learned there's no changing that. Your bold move was perhaps the only thing that could get through to her... I suppose by now you have seen how stubborn she can be, and sometimes she will not listen to anyone", he had said. Then a starker expression came to his face, and solemnly he announced, "And if she decides to say yes, I expect you to take care of her and make her happy."

Then he had frowned, "Though I must say I truly wish she'll say yes. Otherwise I'm not sure if this uproar will ever die or if I'll ever have peace of mind."

The conversation and Imrahil's effective approval had left the young king elated but also impatient and frustrated, because Lothíriel made no noise about herself: evidently she was still in the process of trying to make up her mind. But no matter what happened, he knew he owed Amrothos his thanks for helping out.

Éomer had spent the next day in anxiety and vacillating between different courses of action. An annoyingly persistent voice nagging at the back of his mind had insisted he should seek for the Princess Lothíriel – make a house call or something, and try to persuade her somehow, maybe by kissing or kidnapping her. Then there was a voice of reason trying to muffle those wholly irrational urges. She had wanted space and that was what he ought to give her. But what if she decided this all was a very poor idea?

So he waited, and waited, and hoped. Elfhelm noticed of course and invited him to a sparring session, which he welcomed; concentrating on swordplay wiped his mind blissfully empty of obsession-inspiring princesses.

However, as the day grew older so did his restlessness. Tomorrow he was set to leave for Rohan and now there was a dreadful thing on his mind: what if Princess Lothíriel would not make another appearance? What if he didn't even get to say goodbye to her, not to mention any answer as to whether she might consider his proposal?

So, at last he had given in a bit and sent a messenger to inquire whether she'd be attending to the farewell party... and her affirmative response had made him giddy and slightly mad. Elfhelm had sighed and shook his head. Well, truth be told he did feel like a very young rider again, something he had already forgotten years ago.

Éothain had reported the events of yesterday had created a stir in the society, which he had instantly seen when he had arrived to Merethrond. Stares were numerous and poorly hidden, and there was some soft chatter as well, but he decided to treat the matter with the air of indifference; organising what he hoped was a serene look on his face he sought the company of Aragorn, who thankfully made no comments about anything that even remotely touched the matter of Princess of Dol Amroth.

When she arrived with her brother and the herald announced her name, Éomer instantly turned to look at her, and he wondered what it was that had brought her here tonight. Was it with a request of leaving her alone? Or was it with a promise he so wanted to hear?

So, when she made her way through the crowd, he had eyes only for her... and she met his gaze, and her sea-grey eyes were deep as the waters of Ulmo. And she smiled, and his heart leaped.

"My lady", he said softly, drinking in the sight of her as she finally stopped there before him and placed her hand in his. This was, after all, the last night before his departure. "I am glad to see you came."

A faint smile touched her face.

"Well, it is your farewell feast, Sire. It seemed to me I ought to participate, after all that has happened since we first met in the woods of Ithilien", she answered.

"Aye. And I must say I rest much easier now that I know who is the woman who screamed at me in such manner in the twilight", he said, unable to hold back. That did not make her blush, but instead she snorted.

"Are you perhaps thinking we should part in alike way, my lord? Give the court one more little show?" she asked. While that might have permanently taken care of ladies whose attention he didn't want and he kind of enjoyed the idea, he shook his head.

"No, my lady. I'd rather leave with the memory of you smiling at me, not screaming", he informed her.

"Then I'll try to smile for you Sire", she said, the corners of her mouths twitching.

"Thank you, my lady", he said, answering that little half-smile with one of his own.

Only now did he become aware of the eyes still fixed on the two of them, and he regarded her quizzically.

"Lady Princess, could I perhaps ask you to join me in the garden? I'd like to speak with you in peace and quiet, without half the court staring at ourselves", Éomer suggested.

"Yes, quite", she agreed with a small cringe that creased her face into a pout he found kind of adorable, and it was difficult to tear his eyes away from her. The princess gave him a searching look, "Meet you outside in five minutes, Sire?"

"As my lady commands", he said, bowing his head. That brought another of those half-smiles to her face and he decided it was a very good thing they'd be continuing this conversation outside, because he feared he might kiss her any moment now, and one public display such as that was really enough.

The princess slipped away, ever masterful in the art of eluding, and he slowly made his way towards the great doors leading outside... and trying to look both carefree but ominous, as he didn't want to be stopped by any others now. He took note of Amrothos, who was grinning madly at him, which was hopefully a good sign. He'd have to thank the prince later for all his aid.

Five minutes later, as they had agreed, he found her outside. The Moon was already walking the high gardens of the sky and calm had fallen over the White City. But Éomer only had eyes for the young woman watching over Mundburg.

"Sire", she greeted him when he stopped at her side. "Are you looking forward to returning your home?"

"I suppose a part of me does", he said softly, tearing his gaze away from her for a moment, "but so many things have changed... it feels like going back to your home and seeing that not only your house been put down and built anew in some other place and filled with things I don't recognise, but also finding it occupied by strangers. The world I've known has ended."

It had been little over month since the passing of Sauron, but events leading to it seemed like something that had happened in another world. The days of his youth had been filled with struggle and darkness and hope had always been small... but now a new day was dawning and there was a promise of peaceful future. Yet peace had its own challenges: he was not used to the idleness here in the city and the fact that most of his time would be sent in social gatherings and talking politics. It was no wonder that the nights were long and sleepless, and though he very well knew it was a war-ravaged land waiting for him back in the Mark he rather looked forward to occupying himself with work.

There was a doubtful look on the face of the princess, but then she touched his arm, and the light brush of her fingers had his heart trembling in a way he had not felt since he had been a young rider. It was rarely now that a woman could affect him so... but she _did, _with every small gesture of her.

"I did not have a chance to offer my condolences for your loss. I am sorry, my lord", she said softly.

"Uncle fell in glory and honour", Éomer said plainly. True that was and he knew the man wouldn't want him grieving too much, but the loss of Théoden had been like the loss of a father... all these celebrations had not left time for mourning him, but perhaps that too would change with going home.

"I'm sure you'll live up to his legacy, my lord. You're tenacious enough, at least. I have the first-hand experience", she said wryly and he recognised her attempt to cheer him up. Indeed, it made him smile.

"That you do, my lady", he agreed. He searched her eyes then, and dared to voice out his wish: "I will not be away for too long, though there is much to mend and to heal in my realm. I'll soon be returning to bring Uncle home. I... I wonder whether I might find you here then."

"You're asking me to wait for you, Sire?" she asked softly. Almost instinctively, he took a step towards her, but she stood where she was and the distance between them was now far smaller than would have been considered proper.

"I would like to see you again, Lady Lothíriel", he answered. "For as you must know by now I am leaving my heart to your keeping."

She looked down then, and he feared he had been too blunt. Wasn't this just the kind of thing he had scared her away with yesterday?

"I understand I still owe you an apology for my behaviour yesterday. It wasn't my intention to scare you off with my straight-forward ways. Nor do I mean it now, but I'd take my leave in honesty, if that please you", Éomer said quickly.

But Lothíriel looked up then and he saw that she smiled, though there was something bittersweet there.

"Oh, you didn't scare me, my lord. It wasn't you that upset me, and you're not upsetting me now. No, it was just my own distrust in myself, because I feared what I'd have done if I had stayed a moment longer", she said softly.

"And that is the reason you still keep running away from me, isn't it?" he asked, as gently as he was able. The wish to touch her was getting more desperate now, but he knew he had to hold back, lest she ran away again.

"I suppose so, yes. _You _have never scared me – just the effect you have on me, my lord. The more I see of you the more difficult I find it to rule myself", Lothíriel said quietly. She looked down then, and was silent for a moment that felt long like a life-time, and he held his breath. But then she lifted her eyes again and continued, "How stupid is it? For all my defiance and free spirit and so called bravery I could but run. For all the fire I claim to possess this is the thing I'm afraid of: my own heart."

_Oh, Lothíriel... _

"Don't be afraid, Lady. I didn't call you the Lioness just to appeal to you. Your heart is... I see it's made of strong stuff, stronger than you realise yourself. Trust it. And trust me", he told her very gently, and he couldn't hold himself back; he brushed his hand across her cheek. "I would give mine to you, if you'd have it. No, it is already yours. And it would be the greatest honour and the greatest gift if you would... it is true, what I told you yesterday. This straw-brained oaf loves you with all the fire of his heart and soul."

Lothíriel did not answer right away. Instead, she looked up at him, as if there was some answer there to some unspoken question. He tried to smile at her but found that difficult, for his heart was about to burst with the depth and intensity of what he had for her... this Lady Archer who had charged from the evening and conquered him with one single arrow.

Ever so gently, he took her face between his hands, and she looked up at him, searching his eyes... somehow it made him feel so weak, for in her face and in her eyes he could see all he had ever dreamt of. He saw his future shining in those grey luminous pools, an entire life well-lived, the children they could have, and then at last growing old together.

That moment, when he gazed into her eyes and felt her skin under his fingers, he knew it would have to be her or no one else.

"You are", he uttered clumsily, not sure how to continue. There was so much he ought to say, and he needed her to understand how his heart felt like it wouldn't quite fit in his chest, but he was but a soldier and had no words for emotions this overwhelming.

"I am?" she asked softly.

"I'd like you to be", he corrected himself; after all, it was her choice, and she had not said yes.

He kissed her then, and between each kiss he murmured a word: "Future."

A kiss on her forehead.

"Fortune."

A kiss on her cheek.

"Fate."

And finally, her lips.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update! Hope you like this new chapter.

I believe here Lothíriel begins to really understand what she feels for Éomer, but she's still scared. After all, choosing to say yes would have great and large consequences. But like the conversation with Amrothos makes her understand, it's not Éomer she's unsure about - just the idea of becoming a queen. And perhaps she now knows to trust her heart, like our favourite horselord tells her.

In case you're wondering about Imrahil's reaction - it may seem kind of mild - actually he's for the moment wanting to let Lothíriel and Éomer settle the matter by themselves and see how it goes, but I have no doubt he'd interfere if he deemed it necessary. Hearing that a proposal of marriage has been made reassures him at least, and Amrothos' opinion of the matter has indeed done a lot to convince Imrahil. He knows his daughter well enough to understand his interference would probably not sit well with her, and that she must really be taken with Éomer to be acting this way.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

Quote in the beginning originally by Pablo Neruda.

* * *

**Kiiimberly - **Well, sometimes you just have to do the odd thing. :D

**The Hare and the Otter - **That's just what I thought too!

**Talia119 - **Hopefully this chapter at least answers to your questions about Imrahil. He pretty much knows both his daughter and Éomer are people he can't just force into doing anything, not without upsetting each party in the process. Lothíriel at least would probably throw a proper fit and make a complete scene out of it, and I don't think Imrahil would want to endanger his friendship with the King of Rohan. There's political dimension to it as well: after the help given by the Rohirrim to Gondor Imrahil doesn't really want to start an argument with their king. He figures it's for the better to watch and wait for now, because the two obviously do have something going on, and it could work out just like that without him complicating the matter. Also, as Imrahil reveals, it's partly because Amrothos' interference. Our matchmaking prince is determined it _will _work out and though he may be a carefee person, the workings of Lothíriel's mind are something Imrahil knows he can trust Amrothos to make sense of.

**Sandy-wmd - **Oh yes, never underestimate the Rohirric single-mindedness! :D

**Elealyon - **Thank you so much for your review! I'm very glad and thankful that you took time to write it down. It really made me happy. :)

I'm concerned with the logic and realism of the storyline as well, and I'm glad to hear you appreciate that too. I think it was Tom Clancy who said fiction has to make more sense than reality, and I agree with him. It's sometimes a difficult line to walk, because on the one hand the story has to make sense but on the other hand even the smartest people can sometimes be really illogical and irrational, and there are times I feel like everyone doesn't really agree with that.

Anyway, I'm glad you've enjoyed my stories so much, and I hope you will continue to have good time reading them! :)

**annafan - **Punching people and jumping into ships - they really must be made for each other! :D


	10. Chapter 9

Any fool can know. The point is to understand.

- Prince Galador of Dol Amroth

* * *

**Chapter 9 **

It was a beautiful day for sailing. The skies were clear and the air was already warm, though it wasn't yet midday. On the riverbanks of Anduin the world was in full bloom; Aredhel had insisted they enjoy breakfast on the deck that morning.

She and Imrahil's four children had departed for Dol Amroth a day after the Rohirrim had left the city. Father would soon follow them, but only for a little while: he had much work in the White City, and King Elessar needed his help in many things.

The day was indeed fair, but Lothíriel found her mood was not the brightest kind. Her mind was back in Minas Tirith, the night of the farewell feast, and the goodbyes exchanged the next day... couple days after, she and her family (excluding Father) had set sail for Dol Amroth. After all the excitement in the White City it truly did feel good to go back home. For one, she expected everything to be calmer there, and she could concentrate on things that didn't include horselords and causing scenes with them.

And still... the air was oddly still, the quiet more profound. It had all sizzled and blazed back in Minas Tirith, with thunder bolts raining, and every moment had felt... every moment had been but movement towards the next meeting. _Future, fortune, fate... _

When _he _had taken his leave, he had looked like he had wanted to ask if she'd come with him. And the way he had kissed her hands would probably have made her say yes if he had indeed asked such a thing out loud...

"You look positively morose", called Amrothos' voice from behind her but she didn't give him the courtesy of turning around and acknowledging his statement. He came to stand beside her and Lothíriel could feel his eyes on herself.

"One can't be _positively _morose, dear brother", she commented nonchalantly.

"It's a manner of speaking, O great depressed one", he told her sweetly.

"Just keep up with that and I'll toss you into the river", she shot back and gave him a glare.

"Don't worry, sister. You'll see him again soon. And you'll see more of him than you could ever possibly hope for, what with your agreement to travel to Rohan when he comes back to take his uncle home", Amrothos said, softer this time, and he rested a hand on her shoulder.

"You're never going to let go of this matter, are you?" asked Lothíriel wearily. He grinned unashamedly.

"Of course not. I've invested too much in it – I'd hate to see all my hard work go to waste", he said, sounding far too cheerful for her tastes. For a moment she considered very solemnly the possibility of actually tossing him into the river.

In the end she just snorted and refrained from making any more sharp comments, although dozen cutting remarks had already come to her mind. Sighing, she leaned her elbows on the rail and looked towards the way upriver.

"You know, it's going to be very strange going home. It's like so much has changed that one expects our home must have transformed too", she said softly.

"Yes. I don't suppose anything will really feel same again now. But I'd think that's for the better. It's nice to not wonder every day when the war will break out", Amrothos agreed.

"Hmm. It's going to be really difficult to explain people why I should wield a bow now..." she muttered, half to herself, and then sighed. She didn't think King Éomer would have thought so, however. Whatever anger he had expressed upon first seeing her practice archery had apparently long since died.

She never noticed Amrothos leave her side, for her mind was now travelling north, to the green plains of Rohan...

* * *

"How is our little dragon?" asked Aredhel as Amrothos sauntered from the rear of the ship where his sister still stood lost in her thoughts. Elphir's wife was sitting under a sun shade and was writing letters; no doubt she was reporting the voyage to her sisters back in Lossarnarch.

"I think she's missing you know who", said the prince and grinned. Aredhel answered the expression similarly.

"The two of them are going to turn Dol Amroth upside down, now that she has agreed to let him court her. That's truly a major accomplishment when it comes to Lothíriel", she commented.

I think she's going to tell him yes", she commented and put aside her quill.

"Oh, she will, sooner or later. She just hasn't figure out that yet", he agreed and tossed himself on the seat beside her and picked up an apple from a bowl. He gave his sister-in-law an appealing smile, "Want to bet how soon she does?"

Aredhel let out a soft snort.

"I know better than to gamble with you, Amrothos", she said, though she couldn't quite hide her smile. She returned to her letters and the prince enjoyed the sunlight on his face, already thinking about all the Rohirric girls he'd meet... and the change that had come to their life in the shape of King of Rohan.

* * *

"... have you heard a word I've said, Lothíriel?" asked Aunt Ivriniel, bringing back the princess from her thoughts. Her aunt was frowning and looking strangely like Father, and blinking Lothíriel saw she wasn't too pleased.

"I'm sorry, Aunt. I was just thinking", she answered with some embarrassment and sat straighter on her seat by the window. Her father's sister had asked her today to join for a cup of tea and they were sitting in Aunt's own parlour which was a part of her chambers.

They had come home a couple of weeks ago and somehow she had expected things would go back to ordinary here, but she had quickly noticed that would not be the case. Instead, time would go slower and she felt restless, and no amount of sparring with Amrothos or riding on the beach could fully rid her of that feeling.

"You're doing a lot of that lately, niece", Aunt noted dryly and sipped her tea. "I was just talking about all the preparations that we ought to make."

"Preparations? For what?" asked the princess and slumped again on her seat; the older woman was probably talking about some ball or something like reached over to her and poked her with a closed fan.

"If you would sit straighter, please. A queen should not have such a lousy posture", she said pointedly.

"What!" Lothíriel exclaimed (her posture did become _very _straight). "Aunt, I already said I haven't told him yes, and anyway if he wants a queen who sits straight and drinks tea with her small finger elegantly crooked and whatever it is you've been trying to teach me lately, then I'm the last person he should marry."

Aunt sighed and looked slightly exasperated.

"I just think maybe the King of Rohan would like something nice and sophisticated, Lothíriel", she tried. The princess scoffed.

"We're talking about the man who made his horse leap into a moving ship just so that he could talk with me, Aunt. I don't really think he would care if my dress was made according to the latest fashion or not", she informed her aunt. She smiled then as she thought of _that _little feat back in Harlond. The memory of his kiss still made her toes curl.

But she could think of that later, and she gave a sharp look to the older woman, "Just come to Minas Tirith when he returns. You'll see for yourself."

"Hmph. The more I hear of him the more I wonder if this is a good or a bad thing", Aunt said and put down her cup of tea. "If he has the habit of making his horse jump into places, I have a feeling Dol Amroth might not survive his visit."

Lothíriel could but grin at that, and suddenly she felt kind of enthusiastic for the courtship thing. Aunt noticed and shook her head and made a noise at the back of her throat as though she was the most abused person in the whole of Gondor... but even then, she was not able to hide a small smile.

* * *

The couple months spent back in the Mark had made it clear: this was not a passing fancy. Each day, the memory of the Princess had been there, and sometimes Éomer had found himself looking at something and thinking how much he'd like to show it to Lothíriel. He'd imagine her here, not as a guest but as the mistress of the house, and the image was both appealing and maddeningly frustrating, because she had yet to give him an answer. However, he had left Mundburg in a hopeful mood and he returned with it as well, and the prospect of courting her did bring him some very nice ideas.

It was only hours before their arrival to the White City that Éothain lead his stallion closer, and the young king could recognise the look wishing for a private talk. He gestured his Riders to fall back, and swiftly they expanded the escort.

"Well, old fellow? What is it?" he asked then, glancing at Éothain.

"Just wondering. So the princess is going to meet you in Mundburg, correct?" asked the captain.

"Aye. She's also travelling to Rohan with the company", Éomer answered, looking ahead. "Is there a problem with that?"

"No, of course not. But I can't help but wonder what happens if she says no in the end", Éothain spoke softly. That possibility sounded perfectly dreadful... but it _was _a possibility. Who knew what Princess Lothíriel would decide? She was unpredictable enough at least.

"I'll worry about that then", said the King, though he couldn't help the frown that had come to his face.

"You could spare yourself a lot of pain if did not take the risk, though", his friend pointed out. "And a lot of effort, too."

"Éothain, I'm not concerned about effort or pain. She's worth it... the best ones always are", Éomer said and sat a bit straighter in his saddle. Had it been Uncle who had told him that? No, it sounded more like Erkenbrand.

"Hmm. Aye, I suppose that's true. Not to mention I personally rather enjoy it when a lady keeps you on your toes", said his friend and grinned.

"You've always had a sadistic mind, old fellow", chortled the young king in mock contempt. Éothain chuckled and the two men rode forward in silence for a while, before the Captain spoke again.

"Honestly speaking though, anyone who can deal with you and isn't scared of you should be a magnificent choice", he commented. But then he smirked, "And I will never forget the look on your face when she screamed at you in the woods of Ithilien."

"She's one of a kind", said Éomer softly and smiled to himself. Hopefully, soon all of the Riddermark would know that too.

* * *

"Why aren't they here yet?" asked Lothíriel for the umpteenth time that day, and for the fifth time since the horns of Gondor had announced the arrival of the King of Rohan on the gate of Minas Tirith.

"You know it takes a while to ride all that way up here, sister", Amrothos reminded her patiently. He gave her a sweet smile then, and continued, "You know, once we get to Rohan it would be a wonderful chance for you two to announce your betrothal."

"Amrothos! I thought I made it clear already I'm not just going to make up my mind like that without proper courting", she snapped to him. He sighed theatrically and leaned on the rail at the edge of the Court of the Fountain, where she had dragged him because apparently she didn't want to gaze down alone.

"One could think you would, considering how jumpy you are being about his return", he pointed out. "Who wants courtship anyway?"

"I do!" Lothíriel announced and lifted up her chin. "I'm not just going to marry any man I like. And the fact that I like him doesn't mean I should just rush into it right away. That's what Father said too – he told me to enjoy the courtship."

"You've been listening too much to Aunt's stories about how Father wooed Mother", Amrothos said, shaking his head.

"Yes, I have, and there's no reason we can't have as much fun", she said stubbornly.

"Of course. Just as long as you don't have _too much _of it", he said, but she wasn't listening to him anymore. And the reason for that wasn't lost to him: there was the sound of many hooves nearing the Citadel and a voice shouted: "Make way for the King of Rohan!"

_Just tell him yes already, damn you_, Amrothos thought to himself as he watched his sister jump to hug King Éomer.

* * *

"They just won't end", said Lothíriel, gazing out to the plains of Rohan in wonder. Great green land extended before her, vast like the sea. The wind chased clouds towards horizon behind the hills. And the sun! The way it enveloped the scenery was something she had never seen before.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" asked the voice of King Éomer beside her. They were both horseback, standing on the top of one hill and studying this fair land of wind and sun and grass. The great company, a menagerie the kind world had not seen before, had stopped to water the animals and enjoy some lunch. Lothíriel had found it impossible to just sit back though: she had wanted to take a look around, and the King of Rohan had happily offered to come along.

"It's a good thing", she decided and cast him a smile, "because it makes me want to race for the horizon and never stop."

She frowned then, "Though most people might consider that a bad thing."

He chuckled, turning to look at his kingdom.

"Maybe, if they're not Eorlingas. You needn't explain me the joy of racing your horse... I do not know of any other instance when you can feel as free", he said and his voice became softer.

"That's why I've always loved riding", she said and spied a fond look on his face from the corner of her eye. Lothíriel sniggered, "Father mostly gave up the fight with me when it came to bows and swordplay with my brothers, but he never really got over the riding thing. He still thinks I'll get myself killed in some ridiculous riding accident."

"I truly doubt that, Princess. Even if I had not observed your horsemanship during this journey, I would already be thoroughly convinced. What you did in Ithilien was rather impressive", said the young king, and Lothíriel grinned at him. A compliment like that from the King of the horselords was not an idle comment.

"Thank you, your kingship", she said and bowed her head at him. Then she narrowed her eyes, "Do you think you could maybe tell that to my father?"

King Éomer gave her a sly smile.

"Only if you agree to race me down there", he said with the air of conspirator, and "down there" was a delightfully vague concept. He may have said he thought her a good rider, but Lothíriel had no illusions as to how a race with him would end; she could be better at it than most people she knew, but King Éomer was a man of Rohan and he had practically grown up in saddle. Nevertheless, a race did sound very tempting.

"Will we be in much trouble if we do that?" she asked.

"Oh, yes."

The princess grinned again.

"I must say, Sire, I like how you think. Shall we go on three?"

* * *

The nights in the camp were always a cheerful time. So much was going on, and there were so many little camp fires you could join and listen to all kinds of adventurous tales. They would arrive to Edoras tomorrow or the day after it, and Lothíriel knew she'd miss this special atmosphere once the company disbanded and people would go their own ways. The Elves would return to their own realms and likely never come this way again, the Hobbits would carry on their journey, and Legolas too would leave with Gimli... so, whenever she was able she'd go and see if she could travel with the Elf for a while. He told her about the great journey he had made from his own home in north to Rivendell, and then through the wilderness all the way to the Black Gate. Apparently he was planning to settle in Ithilien for a while, to help with the task of healing the land, so she could visit him as often as she liked.

Now the time of travel was nearing its end, and soon they'd see the capital of the horselords. King Théoden would be laid to rest and the rule of King Éomer would officially begin. To her it seemed the natural way of things, considering he had been king as long as she had known him, but there were instances when she could see how he struggled with it, and she remembered this was something he had not expected to happen.

That evening Lothíriel was returning from her tent, from where she had fetched a cloak to keep her warm against the chill of the night. A polite male voice spoke from her right: "My lady. May I join you?"

Turning to look at the speaker she saw Marshal Elfhelm. King Éomer had introduced them and she had seen the man in the city close to his lord at times. He wasn't as tall as the King – then again, few men were – and his hair was light gold as was his beard. His eyes were ice blue, his nose had been broken at some point, but his expression was friendly for the most of the time.

"Of course, my lord Marshal", she replied, nodding at him. He smiled and joined her side.

"How are you liking Rohan so far, Princess?" he asked.

"It's very beautiful here. I must confess the descriptions don't do it justice", Lothíriel said, letting out a small sigh. "I wish I never had to leave."

The Marshal quickly looked at her and there was a searching look in his eyes.

"You know what to do, if you truly wish that, my lady", he said quietly. She looked down, unsure of what to say. The princess knew Marshal Elfhelm was not only a good friend to the King, but also perhaps had sight of things his lord himself didn't perceive because of his feelings for her. So she glanced at him and sought his eyes.

"And you would have me do that, my lord? You wouldn't find it strange or unwelcome?" she asked, unable to hide uncertainty from her voice. Because truth was, she hadn't really thought about how it would turn out if she _did _say yes. What if King Éomer's people wouldn't like her? What if they thought her nothing but an unwanted foreigner?

Elfhelm seemed to know what was going on in her mind, for he gave her a gentle, reassuring smile. He lay a hand on her shoulder and patted it warmly.

"My lady, it is not an exaggeration to say that after meeting you my King has smiled more than he ever did during the past fifteen years. In my eyes you do not need any other credentials than that", Elfhelm said solemnly. His expression turned softer then, and when he continued to speak the affection he had for his king was unmistakable.

"Life has not always been kind for our new lord, you see; he and Lady Éowyn lost their parents when they were but children, and I do not suppose that is something he could ever really forgive or forget. He was angry for a very long time, though that did not prevent him from becoming a valiant warrior and eventually a Marshal. And then came these twilight years and things got worse in our land as Saruman's power grew,orcs raided the people, and Wormtongue manipulated Théoden King to do nothing about it. You can't even imagine what a difficult time it was for Éomer", Elfhelm said softly. He shook his head and sighed. But then he looked at her again and there was a hint of smile now, "You, however, have reminded not only him but us others too that it wasn't always so. Perhaps you don't realise it, and maybe he doesn't either, but I think you give him hope."

That surprised her very profoundly. Her eyes widened as she stopped to stare at the Marshal. He was still smiling, though there was something slightly embarrassed in the expression now.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I'm being much too forward with you, and my king would probably rough me up for speaking like this", he said apologetically.

"No, no, it's fine. I'm glad you told me this, my Lord Marshal", she said hurriedly as soon as she got back her voice. "I just... I hadn't thought it was like that."

"My lady, I... what I said was not meant to push any feelings on you that you should consider yourself somehow responsible for anything. You must do as you deem best. The reason I said any of that was so that you might understand him a bit better", Elfhelm told her gently.

"I see", Lothíriel replied. She remained silent for one moment more, and then she turned to give him a smile. "Thank you, Marshal Elfhelm. I believe it does help me to understand."

* * *

She had not really expected this land to be so beautiful. Of course it was different from her home back in Dol Amroth, but Lothíriel found that didn't really matter. As she sat on the stone terrace and watched how the moonlight bathed the plains and idly listened to the noises of funeral feast from inside the Golden Hall, she could very well see why King Éomer so loved this realm of his. It was a lot like the man himself: wild and lively and free.

The travel from Minas Tirith had been long but she didn't mind. Getting to ride every day, spending nights in the camp, seeing all kinds of marvellous things from Elves to Halflings... and of course there had been spending time with the King of Rohan when he wasn't busy with the duties of a host. As far as Lothíriel had observed it seemed like he handled the king business pretty well for someone who had not expected to inherit the throne.

Now Edoras was full of the bustle of feast, and all guest chambers and houses were filled. As the land itself, the capital of horselords was unlike what she was used to, but Lothíriel found she rather liked this place, and especially people here. They were so _alive. _

There were steps behind her, distracting the princess from her thoughts,and then King Éomer sat down beside her.

"You didn't like the feast?" he asked, glancing at her quizzically. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Of course I liked it. I just meant to come out and catch some air, but then I saw this and got stuck here admiring it", Lothíriel answered, gesturing at the landscape. That softened his expression and he pulled a flask of ale, which he offered to her. She received it with quiet thanks and took a sip; this Rohirric brew was pretty good.

"Aye, it is a beautiful sight... especially on a night so clear", he agreed and regarded the lands extending around Edoras. Suddenly, she could see something sad enter his face.

"Is it about your uncle?" Lothíriel asked gently. After all, this was the day they had buried the old king, and officially called his nephew the nodded slightly.

"I miss him so much."

Unsure what to say, she picked up his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Then, moving a bit closer to him, she asked, "Would you like to tell me of him, Sire?"

A sorrowful little smile touched the face of King Éomer, and quietly he began to talk of the man he had regarded father... and they sat away the night, until it was very late and he suggested she go and have some rest.

She did, but not before she had kissed him there under the moon and stars.

* * *

Truth be told, Éomer did know that traditional courtship, especially the Gondorian sort, consisted of nice and mild things

He did know it was expected he bring her flowers, ask her for romantic walks, or write some overly sentimental poetry for her, but he was fairly certain Lothíriel would not really appreciate things like that. No, she expected something special – something just as unconventional as they both were by... by Gondorian standards at least. And perhaps they were unconventional by Rohirric standards too.

So, in the end, Éomer resolved the matter by just following his instinct. As to what his instinct told him on that day after the Elven guests along with the heroic Halflings had taken their leave was to ask to spar with her.

"I would love to!" said Lothíriel when he made the suggestion during the breakfast. "See you at the training grounds in half an hour?"

He was not sure how and why that was, but by the time he got there and spotted his wild princess there going through some stances of swordsman, an audience had already gathered. There were men of his own éored, couple of servants of the royal household, and Amrothos and Erchirion; two brothers were grinning far too much for Éomer's tastes.

"There you are, Sire!" Lothíriel exclaimed at the sight of him and looking like she was completely oblivious as far as the audience went. Her expression wasn't entirely unlike to that of her brothers. "I was starting to think maybe you wouldn't dare to face me."

"On the contrary, my lady. At this point I do not fear defeat in your hands", he informed her and picked up a practice sword, same as the one she was wielding. She had good posture at least and her figure betrayed no sign of being uncomfortable with the sword. But then, he expected nothing less.

She grinned at him, "You should maybe get used to it, Sire."

"I will do my best, Princess", he replied, and then fell the first stroke of swords. Conversing became unnecessary then, as they were both concentrating on the sword-fight, and he paid little heed to the shouts of cheering that rose from the audience.

The princess was not a bad with the sword actually; Éomer had met far worse swordsmen during his time. She was fast and agile and she took full advantage of that. Still, as their practice swords continued to meet and he tested her technical skills, he did perceive that her true gift lay with the bow. He had seen how she had charged and shot her arrows, and even though back then he had been angry, he had not missed the great skill this woman had.

Little by little he began to add in some challenge to his blows, and Lothíriel was forced to back away from his offence, until at last he was able to knock off the practice sword from her hand. Threatening her with the tip of the weapon, he asked: "Do you surrender?"

"Never!" announced the princess, and proved her endurance or agility were not at their ends yet: she leaped to side, landed in a crouching position, and grabbed her sword. He followed her in an attempt to disarm her again... but when he placed the sword close to her neck he found her blade against his side. His bafflement was then broken by the wild cheering of the audience, which had by now grown into a proper crowd.

Éomer grinned at the warlike princess. He asked, "Shall we call it a draw, my lady?"

She smiled.

"We shall."

* * *

_October 3019, Dol Amroth_

The day had been spent in socialising with the nobility of southern Gondor. Imrahil had invited some of the more important lords and ladies of these parts to introduce them to the King of Rohan. While Éomer had seen the sense in that, he had still been slightly disappointed for not having a chance to spend more time with Princess Lothíriel; she was, after all, the reason he had come to visit the city by the sea.

There was much for him to do in Rohan, but not a day went by without him thinking of her, and the absence of the wild princess was something to drive him nearly mad some days. It had been only a couple of months since she and her family had departed from Edoras, where they had attended to the funeral of his uncle, and about as soon as the company had started for the road and her riding shape had started to grow smaller, Éomer had began to wonder when he'd see her again.

But now he was here in Dol Amroth, it was a late night after the second day of his stay, and it felt like he had barely had any time with her yet.

Having put aside his coat, he wandered to the balcony of his chambers and stopped by the railing to regard the sea. The moon was almost full and the night was clear, though there was a chill in the air. In few weeks or so the winter storms would come, which was apparently a time of year his princess did not love so much.

"You really should come here next summer. We'll go sailing, and maybe swimming, and I can show you the caves down the beach", Lothíriel had chattered away cheerfully. "Amrothos and I always used to play there when we were children, because we were convinced there was a pirate treasure buried in those caves. It's very nice during the summer months."

"Did you ever find that treasure?" he had inquired. She had smiled and shook her head.

"Sadly, no", she had said, but that conversation had ended then as some female relative of hers had approached them and put them both under sharp interrogation. Of course, by now the matter of their courtship was a common knowledge, and Éomer had quickly learned that at least half of the society considered it something they had every right to participate in. Few elderly ladies had even informed him it was a poor decision to court someone as wild as the Princess of Dol Amroth, and it had taken him some severe self-control to remain quiet.

When he had asked Erchirion why this all was such big news, the prince had chuckled.

"It's because you're virtually the first man – and a lord of high standing – to even consider asking Lothíriel's hand in marriage. Most lords are intimidated by her and she does have the certain reputation. But then suddenly nothing less than a king decides to court her. That's not something they're just going to understand so easily. You're going to leave an entire generation of accomplished maidens of noble birth wondering what it is about her that could possibly catch the eye of one of the most eligible bachelors in the western kingdoms", Erchirion said, looking like this all was very amusing to him. The young king had rolled his eyes and grimaced; he had decided that if Lothíriel said yes he'd be eternally grateful to her just for saving him from the said maidens.

Suddenly, a voice from above distracted him from his thoughts: "Psst!"

Éomer looked up, and there dangling from one window was the Princess of Dol Amroth, grinning at him.

"Hello there, your kingship", she greeted him.

"Evening, my lady. May I inquire what you are doing?" he asked jovially.

"I'm going stargazing and I thought to ask if you'd like to come along", she replied. Well, there was something he hadn't expected. But any activity at all with her was something he could appreciate, especially if it meant some privacy. He had come here for her and none else, after all.

"Gladly, Princess", he said and answered her grin.

"There's a good man. Meet me upstairs in the gallery in ten minutes?" she asked.

"I will be there."

* * *

As promised, King Éomer did appear in the gallery in ten minutes. Lothíriel waited for him in the shadows, and when he was about to pass by her, she grabbed his hand and pulled him in between the two great statues of her ancestors. He didn't object to the kiss she gave him – rather, he pulled her close and answered it in a way that could have lead into something more had she been some air-headed thing.

"I did not know you meant this when you said stargazing", he said, his voice low and husky.

"Of course not, silly. I just wanted to tell you hello before that", she informed him and winked. She took his hand then, "Now, come along. We've got some climbing to do."

She lead him through some hallways and corridors, which were quiet now as the inhabitants of the palace had gone to enjoy their nightly rest, until they reached a heavy wooden door. From behind it a round staircase began to rise upwards: she lit a candle to show them way. The King of Rohan followed her quietly, making surprisingly little noise as he moved for a man of his size.

Up in the tower it was rather dusty, as no one came too regularly here anymore. On walls there were some old star charts and tables were covered by similar things.

"My grandfather built this tower long time ago. He loved nothing better than studying the stars, and I suppose he was trying to get closer to them. It's the way he left it, because Father doesn't seem to know what to do with this place", she explained to King Éomer, who was looking around with a quizzical look on his face. She turned to the door leading into a small balcony and pulled it open. Smiling at her companion, she beckoned him to follow, "Come here. The views are better outside."

"I'm sure they are, but I would not like to see you falling into your death", he said reluctantly.

"Of course I won't fall. I wasn't born yesterday, you know. And anyway Grandfather built railings here", she told him and though he still looked kind of doubtful he did follow her out. That look only deepened when she made him climb after her on the slanted roof of the tower, but as soon as they were both settled on their backs there and the only thing before them was the night sky, Lothíriel could see the tension leave the form of the man beside her.

"I used to come here often when I was a child. My grandfather taught me just about everything I know of stars... he was a really good teacher and he loved talking about the night sky. My brothers weren't so interested, so I suppose it was just my and Grandfather's thing", Lothíriel said softly, looking far above.

"Really? I wouldn't have thought of you as an avid stargazer", remarked the King. She smiled at him.

"Well, maybe it's odd. But I just liked all these stories he told me about the stars. Did you know they were the first thing Elves saw when they came to this world? That's why they love stars and Elbereth above all. For their love of Elbereth's lights they also called themselves the People of the Stars", she said. She lay silent for a bit and let out a soft sigh. "There's countless stories up there, you know. Each star is a part of an asterism, and together they form a picture."

He frowned at that.

"I don't see any pictures there", he said dubiously.

"Oh, I don't mean literal pictures. They're mostly arbitrary, you see. Our scholars have studied the night sky since the time when Númenor was young – they came up with the idea that together stars make up pictures. My grandfather and I used to come up here and we'd make up all these stories about the star-pictures and their adventures", she explained. She moved closer to him, almost so close that her cheek was against his. Gently she lifted his arm and placed her hand under the palm of his, and then lead his forefinger with her own. "Look at there. These stars are called the Queen in the honour of Elbereth. Beside her is the Handmaiden. Here's the Great Eagle, look at how he soars! And those two are the Twins. We made up stories where they'd get into so much trouble, but the Eagle would save them in the end."

"This one", she said, speaking more softly then, "is the Huntress. She's my favourite."

"Is there anything about horses up there?" he asked, trying for a light tone while attempting not to look at her for too long.

"Oh, yes. There's the Horseman, not too far from the Huntress. It looks a bit like he was pursuing her... chasing her across the night sky", Lothíriel answered softly, tracing the imagined lines of the star constellation with their fingers.

"Does he ever catch her?" asked Éomer, though he wasn't looking at the stars anymore.

"I don't know. The stars don't say that", she said; she hadn't noticed the way he watched her.

"Hmph. How ignorant of them", he muttered in mock displeasure, which made her laugh softly.

"Hmm. Maybe they are. They're just lights after all. But they're beautiful nevertheless", she sighed and lay down her arm and hand. He didn't move his own from hers.

"Aye", said the King of Rohan, and he was still watching her rather than the stars. The princess turned to give him a smile.

She asked, "You want to retire for the night already?"

"Not at all. I can sleep later; now I'd rather enjoy your presence",King Éomer replied.

"That's what I thought too, Sire", Lothíriel said and settled more comfortably there on the roof of the tower. For a while, they lay there in silence. Eventually the young king spoke again.

"You know, I would not mind it if you dropped those Sires and my lords. I do have a name, after all", he said then, turning his head so that he could look at her more openly and straightly.

"You do?" she noted, trying to hide the awkward tone from her voice. Really, it was just his name! It was stupid to feel like this about it... then again, names made this all the more real – brought him even closer somehow.

"Oh, I do. Would it be really so wrong for you to use it, at least in private?" he asked softly.

"No. I suppose not", Lothíriel agreed in a quiet voice. She regarded him quietly for a moment and then spoke, "... Éomer."

He smiled.

"Not so difficult in the end, is it?" he asked lightly.

"Hmph. Next time we go to the beach, I might just push you into the sea", she said cheekily.

"And I might just like it, Lothíriel."

* * *

Amrothos had been the one to help to achieve it: he had asked the King of Rohan to come for a riding trip with him, to which the horselord had readily agreed to. Together they had left for the beach... and that was where Lothíriel waited for them with her own horse.

"Subterfuge is sometimes needed", she informed the young king as they rode forward, leaving Amrothos behind. "You know my aunt would insist she or someone else come along as a chaperone, and I doubt either of us really have patience for that."

"You are very right, my lady", Éomer agreed.

"I am always right", she said, at which he snorted, but he couldn't hide his smile.

In companionable silence they rode forward, over the shores of Dol Amroth. It was very pleasant: there were no relatives or servants or overly curious nobility around. It was just two of them flying over the beach, doing something they both enjoyed, and free of all cares. As always, it was a pleasure to watch the horselord ride, because he took that skill to another level entirely. It looked like the man and his horse were completely in tune, and the animal seemed to obey rather his master's thought than any gesture. She nearly rode into the sea watching him ride.

Éomer noticed of course and though he said nothing, he did grace her with a most charming and slightly smug smile. He certainly deserved being pushed into the sea for that.

After a while, Lothíriel had her steed slowing down into a trotting pace that bordered on being a walk. The King beside her followed the example and cast her a questioning look.

"Those caves I told you about", she said then, "They're just ahead. Would you like to see?"

"Most certainly, fair lady", he replied.

After dismounting and leaving their horses outside, she lead him into the cave. It's mouth was just at the shore, and waves gently pulled in and out of it. As it was low tide they could enter the opening into the dim of the cave.

"Watch out the rocks", Lothíriel told him. "They're slippery, and I don't want you falling and knocking your head and then drowning in the sea."

"Did you perchance ever tell your father that you regularly came here with your brother?" asked the King of Rohan in a slightly doubtful voice. She grinned at him.

"Of course not. He'd have been furious", she said nonchalantly as she took support from the wall and offered him her hand to help him stay in balance as they moved from one rock to other.

"Hmph. I should have known", he grumbled but followed her nonetheless.

"Now, where's your sense of adventure?" she asked sweetly.

"About here", he said as caught her and made a leap to the solid ground (well, as solid as sand got). Then he kissed her. A lot, actually.

When it ended, she was out of breath and he was too, though he also looked rather pleased.

"I've wanted to do that ever since I got here", Éomer told her in husky tones. "Do you know, my dear princess, that you have the most kissable mouth I've ever seen?"

"I do know now", she answered and couldn't hold back a giddy little grin. "And I fully intend to use that knowledge to my benefit in devious ways."

"For your information, I would expect nothing less of you", he said and would probably have kissed her again had she not spoken then.

"Do you... did you ever think this would be where you were going when you first saw me in the woods of Ithilien?" she asked softly.

"Did I think I would end up in a cave by the sea with an impossible princess?" he asked teasingly, but seeing her expression, his face too became solemn. "No. I did not think this would come out of it. I thought I'd never see you again."

"Hmm. And that was what I meant to try and achieve, even if it would have turned out infeasible eventually. But you made it difficult to focus on that from the very beginning", Lothíriel mused. She smiled at him then with some embarrassment. "I never apologised for my horrible conduct in the woods."

"It doesn't matter. One could say I deserved it", he said and grimaced. His expression softened then and he even smiled, "Though I also admit you do have a way of making an impression. No other noble lady has ever yelled at me like that... or caught me swimming naked like you did."

Lothíriel let out an awkward little chuckle.

"I swear it was an accident", she said. Now there was an encounter she'd never forget. And judging by the look on his face, he would neither.

"To be honest, I didn't mind..." Éomer murmured and gave her another kiss, though it was shorter this time. He didn't pull away that much, though; his face was very close when he whispered: "Say yes."

"... I'll think about it", Lothíriel was just about able to answer. She spoke again, slightly stronger this time: "I would like you to court me a bit more."

"How am I managing so far, anyway?" he asked. If he was disappointed for her answer, it didn't show.

"Splendidly, my dear King. Just keep going", she told him and he'd have kissed her, but she placed a finger on his lips, "but perhaps not right now. Otherwise stopping might be very difficult."

"... aye. You're right", he agreed.

They didn't linger in the cave much longer than that, and when they left, it was holding hands. And afterwards her mood wasn't even dampened when Aunt Ivriniel finally found her and rightly guessed she had been all alone with her royal suitor, and without a chaperone attending to them.

* * *

When she watched him ride away a week later, Lothíriel knew what was the truth.

Seeing the group of riders, with their long green mantles fluttering in the wind, and _him_leading them... the white horsetail of his helmet flew behind him as his figure grew smaller and smaller...

It felt wrong, watching him go like that. Moreover, she felt like she should jump on her own horse and race after Éomer, though she wasn't sure what she'd do when she caught them (if she ever would – they were Rohirrim after all).

Lothíriel bit her lip and knew why she felt like this. She understood why his departure wasn't right. It had been easy to ignore when he had still been in the city. But now, when he wasn't there filling up the space and laughing and teasing her, it could not be ignored any longer.

He had asked for future, fortune and fate of her. And now she knew she'd give him it all... and she'd be happier for it.

Moreover, she couldn't wait to tell him...

* * *

**A/N: **And at last I return with an update! I'm sorry it took this long. I've been terribly busy lately and for one my Muse has been in hiding (that's a first), so I havent' been able to get much writing done. Oh well, here's the new chapter at last! Hope you all like it

I decided to write this one a bit differently, so that I could show you a bit of their courtship. This is of course not all there is to it, but I had to draw a line somewhere and this was it. In the next chapter we just might move into something else.

I didn't include large amounts of Lothíriel's time in Rohan, as you can very well see. I considered doing that but eventually chose not to, because that might just have distracted me, and anyway it wouldn't have really fit in with the structure of this chapter. Let us just say that the time she spent there was very enjoyable to her, but the regular people didn't have too many chances of really having reactions towards her; I'd imagine that with all the guests in Edoras, the common folk had not really time to notice one little princess, no matter how boisterous she is.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**kitkitmaria - **The real life has just been a bitch lately, unfortunately!

**Le Pleiade -** Well, we don't really see here anyone else's reactions than Éothain and Elfhelm. I considered writing more of her dealings with Rohirrim while she was visiting Rohan, but that would probably just have lead me on a different road than what I meant to do with this chapter. Hopefully this doesn't disappoint you at least.

**Concrete63 - **You're very right about that. I think anyone would be scared when faced with a change so great.

**Wondereye - **Hopefully you liked those bits in Rohan at least!

* * *

Quote in the beginning originally by Albert Einstein.


	11. Chapter 10

"The only journey is the one within." - Skalkisham of Umbar

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_April 65 Fourth Age, Edoras_

The light of day had waned and it was evening already when Grandmother finally fell silent. She had spoken almost without a stop, though sometimes Elsunn had interrupted her to ask some questions or elaborations on this or that matter. But late it was already, and all the afternoon and evening they had spent in past, wandering those paths of days gone by.

Grandmother sat quiet. The daylight had smoothed her features and given shine to her hair; now in the light of candles she looked _ancient, _for the lines age had carved on her face seemed more pronounced, and each line was heavy with memories. Elsunn leaned forward excitedly, waiting for the old Queen to continue. She half expected to hear that the young version of this old woman before her had jumped in the saddle and rode after Grandfather, even though she knew how it had turned out in truth.

"What happened next? Did you agree to marry him then? What did you do?" she asked; her questions made Grandmother smile slightly.

"Sweetheart, it is already very late. I think perhaps we might finish for the day and continue the tale tomorrow", she said softly. But Elsunn was not ready to let go yet, not now when they had got to this part of the story.

"Please, Grandmother! Tell me at least what you told him – if you really said yes", she pleaded and gave the old woman one of her most appealing looks.

A fond little smile appeared on that old face, and after one more moment of silence, Grandmother answered.

"I didn't ride after him that day, though I would very much have liked to do so. Instead, I stayed in Dol Amroth, trying to decide how I should proceed", she started. She considered this quietly for a bit, and then continued: "Let us not go to that quite so quickly. I have not told you all the things that happened between us during our courtship. I had given him permission to woo me... and that he certainly did! In Minas Tirith, he sang serenades under my window one night – and to this day, I do not know how he was able to sneak into our garden. In Edoras we went hunting, and I showed him my archery. Sometimes we sparred, though I was never able to surprise him again the way I did that first time... he was, after all, a master swordsman. We would go riding together, and stargazing, and during his visit to Dol Amroth I was even able to persuade him to come fishing with me. It was the happiest time of my life since then. Much of that happiness was because for the first time someone who wasn't my family took note of me in a way that wasn't disapproving or scandalised. No matter what mad antics I committed, your grandfather was never disconcerted by it."

Then a dark expression came to her face and when she spoke, there was heaviness in her voice.

"I sometimes wonder how things would have turned out, if I had agreed sooner. When all was said and done he told me I shouldn't dwell on what could have been, but I couldn't help it. Perhaps our lives would have taken us to a very different place if I had... if I had been there..."

She shook her head and fell silent, and Elsunn could tell Grandmother was travelling the paths of memories so deeply that she had even forgot about their conversation.

"Why didn't you tell him yes sooner, then?" asked the young princess. Now Grandmother smiled faintly.

"Because I wanted to make sure if it would be the right choice. I had to be certain he really loved me... and that I loved him. I was insecure back then, my dear. That may surprise you, but in that time I was very young and inexperienced, though I liked to pretend otherwise. Nevertheless, my idea was to test him and myself, and see if it was a passing fancy... or if my heart would remain unmoved", she explained gently. It was indeed surprising to hear that, because Elsunn couldn't really imagine her Grandmother anything else than brave and strong. But then, much of what she had told had indeed shown she had been a very different person back then.

"What made you change your mind in the end?" Elsunn asked then.

"I suppose you could say that time had done its work on me. Truth be told, I had been falling in love with him ever since we had first met in the woods of Ithilien.. I was very stubborn, you see. I needed my time of judging him and my own heart. Be it as may, one day after Yuletide I got it in my head that I'd go to Edoras and see the King of Rohan. Luckily it happened that Father and Elphir were in Minas Tirith, and Erchirion was busy with things he had been left in charge of... and Amrothos was, as ever, eager to aid me in my mischief. Even our aunt suspected nothing", said Grandmother. Her smile was now something of a grin; the memory was obviously a very fond one.

"So we set out from Dol Amroth together, telling everyone we were going for Minas Tirith when we actually rode north and passed through Dimholt Road to Rohan. It has been much mended and changed since that time, and though I knew the darkness was gone from the mountain, it was still one of the most terrifying experiences of my life... but the thought of my King pushed me forward, and Amrothos at that point knew he had no choice but to follow."

"At last we came to Edoras, and it happened that we arrived when the King was executing his justice and listening to the pleas of his people. In those days, when he gave his audiences, the doors of Meduseld were open to all, though his men always kept guard and ensured the order. That day the Golden Hall was full of people and my dear horselord did not notice myself or my brother, and we were left to observe him in this setting we had not seen before. The man I saw sitting on the throne was so different to the one I had grown to know – he truly _was _king – and I almost lost my nerve then. But then as I looked upon your grandfather I also understood how much I had missed him", she said, her voice falling softer.

At this point Elsunn was grinning, because she knew what tale her Grandmother was telling. It was one of her favourites, as she had not heard anyone had ever before done something like it... though many a lady certainly did after the word spread.

Grandmother smiled then, half to herself, deep in her memories. But soon she continued again.

"It has to be said this story has grown much larger ever since then, and some people believe it was something I had long planned. But the truth is I never thought beforehand that I'd behave so... hmm, scandalously, as it was remarked in the Gondorian society when the news spread. I acted spontaneously and purely on an impulse, simply because I was on the front of Éomer, and he had a way of making me do strange things just by being present. And so, thinking of how much I had missed him, I stepped forward and asked for his hand in marriage."

"It was one of the strangest moments of my life, standing there in complete silence as Eorlingas present stared at me and wondered if I was touched in the head. I suppose very few even recognised me. Éomer too sat in silence and astonishment, until he suddenly stepped down from his throne, and came to me. Then he picked up my hand and there on the front of his people and household he answered yes."

Elsunn couldn't hold back her giggling. She could picture it so well: Grandmother stepping from the crowd and proposing to Grandfather there on the front of what had to be the entire population of Edoras... only she could do something like that. Even among the ordinary people it was agreed that the man should be the one to make the official proposal or marriage, and to royalty that applied even more. No one just walked to a king and asked to marry him. But Grandmother had, turning everything gleefully upside down as she did so. Of course he had already proposed to her before and the courtship had been common knowledge, but to answer it in such a way? To Gondorians it was scandalous of course... but like Grandmother said now: "It may have come as a surprise to Eorlingas... but if I should point at one moment when I felt they accepted me as one of them, it was that instance. Our people do appreciate boldness, after all. And I'm not sure your Grandfather ever really stopped laughing because of it."

"But you weren't married then. Why did that take so long in the end?" asked Elsunn.

"Had it depended on just us two, we probably would have got married that very day. However, Amrothos and Elfhelm had enough sense at least to prevent us from doing just that, and word was sent to your great-grandfather, who was still in Minas Tirith. My father insisted on a betrothal time of a year. Wedding contracts had to be negotiated, the feasts in the honour of our marriage planned, and my moving from Gondor to Rohan required a lot of preparations. In part I believe it was because it was difficult for Father to let me go... I was his only daughter, after all. And perhaps he too wanted to make sure that it was what I really wanted", Grandmother said and sighed. She shook her head, "Then war came, and Aragorn needed your Grandfather, and the wedding had to be postponed."

The young princess leaned forward on her seat. Eyes glowing, she watched the old woman with unblinking eyes. She knew where the story was now heading.

"And then?" she asked excitedly.

A tired little smile came to Grandmother's face. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

"What happened next is not a story I would tell you in the middle of night. It is late already, and you should be in bed", she said gently. "We will continue tomorrow."

Elsunn had to agree Grandmother was right. It really was very late, and to be honest she felt kind of tired too. And this was a story she didn't want to sleep through. So she got up and walked over to the old woman.

"Thank you for telling me this story. I look forward to more", she said softly as she leaned down to kiss Grandmother's forehead.

"Of course", she answered and looked up to Elsunn; her grey eyes, which the young princess had inherited, were shadowed and sad. "Good night, my dear."

* * *

In Meduseld quiet reigned. Elsunn had gone to bed already, but Lothíriel Queen was still awake.

Silent she stood by the wooden stand and rested a hand on the bow Legolas had given her. The betrothal had been formally announced in Minas Tirith, not long after the little adventure she and Amrothos had made to Rohan.. and after the feast Aragorn had organised to honour his friend and the future queen, Legolas had approached her and given her the bow. As far as Lothíriel had been able to tell, he had been working on it ever since he had first come to talk sense to remembered the endless depth of the Elf's eyes as though he had somehow known what lay ahead...

She had been grateful for the gift, as she felt she'd never possess a weapon as fine. But that didn't even begin to comprehend how grateful she had been afterwards, when... _no. _That was a story for the daylight.

Touching it, she felt like she could reach over to those years – a life-time ago now, it seemed. And yet telling this tale had brought back the days of her youth, as though it all had happened only yesterday.

She sighed and bowed her head, and she missed _him _so much, like she had every day since he had passed away. Somehow in her mind, when she had imagined death, she had always thought they would face it together... just like they had faced so many things before. But he had gone before her, he had left her here... and she felt crippled without him by her side. With him a part of her had died.

Lothíriel lifted up her face and looked ahead, out to the silver-painted plains of Rohan. Perhaps it was for the better that she had been the one to stay behind. He was, after all, the one who had needed peace more than she did.

And perhaps there was still something to pass on to their children, before her time would come. Yes, they should know – their children should not forget this story.

Slowly, feeling the weariness deep in her old bones, Lothíriel Queen of Rohan, the Lioness of the Mark, made way to her bed. There she settled and blew out the candle. Hopefully, the dreams would bring him back to her... if only for the night.

* * *

Elsunn woke up around sunrise. As soon as her mind cleared of sleep she thought of yesterday and the story Grandmother had started to tell her. Smiling to herself, she went through all the things she had heard yesterday, and the wonderful and insane courtship between Éomer Eadig and Princess Lothíriel. No wonder people still spoke of it this day.

Bursting with energy, she got up and threw on a gown; maybe Grandmother would want to start with the story right after the breakfast. As soon as she had washed her face and made sure her hair – inherited from her maternal side – wasn't looking horrible, she hurried off to the great hall.

She was among the first to arrive, but soon the hall began to fill as members of the household came to break their fast. Father occupied the place in the centre of the dais of course, and Grandmother was on his right side; it had been her place when Grandfather had lived, and Father had never even thought of making her relinquish it. From her childhood and adolescence, Elsunn could remember the time when Éomer King had sat that centre spot. He had been ancient of course, but until his death he had never lost his wits or his insistence to take part in the daily comings and goings of the household – well, not until that final illness at least.

But when she dashed to see Grandmother after breakfast and took the hand of the old woman, Elsunn was served with something of a disappointment.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but I have to attend to some things before we continue. Would you perhaps mind waiting until lunchtime?" asked Grandmother. To be honest, Elsunn did rather mind, but Lioness of Rohan wasn't just someone you told so, and so she relented and promised to wait.

The morning did seem longer than a century to say the very least, and Elsunn wandered about restless. When tables had been cleared and people had gone their way, she lingered in the Great Hall for a bit. She looked around, and she regarded the throne: how had Grandfather looked like when he had been young and he had sat there for the very first time? Moreover, how had he felt like when Grandmother had appeared from the crowd and asked for his hand in marriage? They said he had been a young and a golden king... and suddenly, Elsunn wished she could have seen that time.

But had that time been _before _or _after? _

It was after lunch, when she was playing with her twin nephews, that a servant came to her and said that her grandmother wanted to see her. After kissing the brows of the two little princes and promising they'd continue the warlike game later, Elsunn hurried to the chambers that belonged to the wife of now dead king, and there she found Lothíriel Queen sitting by the window: the same place they had occupied yesterday. Upon Elsunn's entering the old woman smiled and gestured towards the other seat.

"I believe it is time to continue, my dear", she said softly. The young princess needed no other request to fly to the chair and settle down.

"Where did we end again last night? Oh yes, it was with my proposal. Now I remember", said Grandmother. A small smile came to her face and she seemed to be remembering a lot more than just the proposal (or agreement, however one wanted to see it).

"What happened then?" asked Elsunn.

"You can probably guess the excitement my proposal did cause... and I've already spoken of the reasons why our marriage was postponed. Your grandfather was thrilled nevertheless... I'm not sure I had ever seen him so excited before then, or after it. You see, our marriage was to take place in March of the year 3021, which was also the last year of the Third Age. However, things did not go quite so smoothly."

_This was it. _This was what Elsunn had been expecting: the start of the great adventure. She leaned forward in her seat and watched her grandmother with very wide eyes. But the old woman seemed tired and sad. The young princess realised she was about to return to some painful or at least heavy memories.

Grandmother lifted her eyes and looked at Elsunn. There in her grey eyes was a sharp look.

"You know what took place then – at least the basics of it. But now I'm about to tell you what really happened to your grandfather... and what I did as a response. For the truth is at that point I had decided that he was mine, and this determination would end up shaping all our destinies in what happened next."

_**End of Part 1**_

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**A/N: **I bring you this update, and hope you like it, my dear readers! I know it's kinda short when compared to other chapters (the next one will probably be as well), but it's kind of an interlude I suppose, and I'm probably going to upload the next chapter tomorrow or the day after.

Originally I meant to make this cut in the chapter 8 already, and move on to the next section. However, I felt that little more had to be said before I could finish Part 1. I did also consider writing the actual proposal/agreement scene, of which Lothíriel and Elsunn speak of in this chapter, and then the betrothal feast. However, trying to plan out that chapter just didn't feel right - I felt I had already used up my ideas for this section of the story. It's not a decision I made easily, though; it seems to me that people would perhaps rather like to see a scene so delicious fo themselves. But writing-wise, to me it seemed more natural and somehow more "right" to go this way, and let the old Lothíriel tell the tale in her own words. I hope that my instinct has not gone wrong here.

In retrospect I feel this section of the story is not my best or most original writing (though there are some bits I personally like very much), but hopefully I will be able to fix that in the Part 2.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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Quote in the beginning originally by Rainer Maria Rilke.

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**Frodofan** – Why isn't it believable? I would like a bit more elaboration, because it's really frustrating to hear something's wrong with my writing but not being able to see what precisely about it needs mending.

**Talia119 - **I like writing with that structure as well, but I have to be careful with it lest I overuse that technique.

Well, like I said before: stubborn people are stubborn in good and bad! And like the older version of her recognises here, it's also in large part because of being insecure. But when she does make up her mind, it's with a bang!

As for their sparring session, I wouldn't really say she got the best of him. I was trying to portray it as a draw. And anyway the setting is wholly different to a serious fight. I mean, if Éomer wasn't holding back Lothíriel would stand no chance against him; but he does hold back and anyway it's not one of his men or an enemy he's fighting, but a woman he loves and wants to marry. So I'd think he's not really using the full scale of his strength and skills. It's a playful battle in the end. If he was in full armour and fighting to kill, there would be no question of the winner. That the fight ended in a draw was less about Lothíriel getting to surprise a master swordsman and more about building Éomer's trust in her ability to take care of herself.

**Kiiimberly - **Oh yes, I thought so as well! Fits the two of them much better.

**Le Pleiade - **He probably does, what with the way Rohirrim are considered to be more easygoing. I think at this point most people are too tired of conflicts anyway and just want happiness, for themselves and their king. And yes! She wouldn't be Lothíriel without that temper. :)

**Wondereye - **Well, she pretty much _did _announce that to entire Rohan! :D

**Edhla - **Thanks for your review! I truly agree about Éomer/Lothíriel fics. I must confess that these two are so tightly woven together in my head that I can't even read fics where he marries someone else. Silly, I know, but I can't help it.

As far as my A/N in the beginning goes, I personally feel there's not really a better place for it than the beginning of the story. I think it provides important information on the story itself and helps to understand the contexts. It's long, yes, but in my opinion moving it to the end would confuse the structure, and to remove it to my profile could mean that people never even take a look at it. In regular chapters I keep A/Ns in the end, but the beginning of the story is in my view a different place.

Big thanks for your language comments! I'm not a native speaker so my English is not flawless, and I appreciate it when my mistakes are pointed out to me. As far as my punctuation goes, it took me a while to even notice that, and I understand our example is the American punctuation rule. However, I'm under the impression that in British English (which I try to use, though I sometimes lapse into American English too) the comma can go either side. This how I've originally learned punctuation, and if I switched between two systems I fear it would completely ruin my sense of punctuation. I've rationalised this usage of comma by deciding to stick to what I've learned: better to use one system consistently than randomly switch between two! I hope at least this doesn't bother you too much.


	12. Part 2: Lost

**Part 2: Lost**

_Though much is taken, much abides; and though  
We are not now that strength which in old days  
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;  
One equal temper of heroic hearts,  
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will  
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield._

_- Alfred Lord Tennyson_

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Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity. - "The Poetess"

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**Chapter 11**

_March 3021, Third Age of the Sun, Minas Tirith_

"Éomer? Éomer! Are you there? Open the window before I fall!"

The King of the Riddermark had been in the middle of making sure his things were all ready for the morrow when the familiar and beloved voice of Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth called him from behind the window of his chamber. Smiling to himself, he was not terribly surprised to realise she was there, waiting for him to let her in. After all, the sly little smiles she had been giving him before had very much alerted him of the fact that he should probably expect a visit.

And there she was when he opened the window, dangling from a rope she had used to climb from the terrace above, and smiling at him like this was the most genial thing anyone had ever done. Dressed in midnight blue, she appeared to have been able to sneak all the way from her father's house, into palace, and then climb down without anyone seeing. Well, it was late and she was a sneaky, light-footed thing. And it wasn't like this was the first time she had tiptoed into his room in the middle of night.

It was a good thing they were soon getting married. He didn't know how many more times they could have these late night rendezvouses without conceiving a child on her.

"My lady", he greeted her with mock solemnity as he offered her his hand to pull her in; she pulled at the rope and the knots gave out (he wondered where she had acquired Elvish rope, though probably Legolas was somehow involved), and she gathered it in a neat hank.

"Sire", she grinned as an answer, and as soon as she was in the room, she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him hard and long. The first time they had kissed, it had come as a surprise – though perhaps he should have known to expect it considering all the things he had known of her by then. It wasn't tender and gentle kind of thing one would have expected of a well-bred princess, though the Princess was capable of that as well... when she wanted.

Needless to say, he loved it.

When she pulled back, she was frowning.

"I still think we should be wed now, tonight. I'm sick and tired of waiting", she grumbled, curling his hair about her fingers.

"Oh, don't I know that", he agreed and caught her lips for another kiss. "But perhaps it is for the better to wait a little bit more. The campaign shouldn't take too long – it's a month or two at the most. We'll be married as soon as I've returned."

"But in truth it's because half of Rohan would never forgive you if you got married in Minas Tirith and denied them the opportunity to drink themselves silly in our honour", she commented dryly, which made him laugh softly.

"That, my dear Princess, is not entirely untrue", he answered and kissed her again.

The summons had come one morning of late February. A rider from Mundburg had arrived to bring word from King Elessar to his good and trusted friend King Éomer, asking for his help and for the strength of his famed cavalry. The pirate activity had become more aggressive as of late, and even Pelargir had received some attacks. Their assaults had fallen especially hard on the coasts, killing many and sending even more to flight; Minas Tirith was already brimming with refugees. The situation was unbearable and Aragorn had decided to purge the coasts while Imrahil's ships hunted on the seas. In all honesty, Éomer wasn't too overjoyed about it as it forced them to postpone the wedding, but Aragorn was his friend, and he'd be damned if he ever denied Gondor in her need. Moreover, celebrating the wedding seemed all the more appropriate after the deeds of war were done.

So he had mustered the Rohirrim, and once again the Riders of Rohan had travelled east. They had made a stop at Mundburg to finish the plans for the campaign; Lothíriel had come from Dol Amroth as well, and apparently she had shared many arguments with her father, insisting she wanted to ride for war too. But according to Imrahil that would have been too much, and anyway she still had preparations to make before the wedding. To say that she had been displeased to hear that the not only would wedding be postponed but also that she would have to stay behind was an understatement, but wild as she was, even she didn't have the gall to argue with King Elessar, who had gently pleaded her to stay behind. Well, not much at least. During the dinner tonight, she had given the man a long and sharp look and informed him that if something ever happened to the Lord of the Mark, she'd consider Aragorn personally responsible.

At her words, Aragorn had smiled, and said: "Fear not, Princess. Your betrothed has survived worse dangers than the one we are facing."

"Hmph. My words still stand, though", Lothíriel had announced briskly and skewered a piece of chicken on her plate with thinly veiled irritation.

When the kiss ended, the look on the princess' face had become soft again... and there, deep in her grey eyes, Éomer could see something he had not seen there before. _It was fear. _Most of the time, he was convinced this lioness of a woman was not capable of such emotion. Ever so gently, he brushed a hand across her cheek, and then settled it on her neck.

"Don't look so sad, beloved. I'll be back soon", he told her gently. "There is no power strong enough in this world to prevent me from returning to you, if there is one breath of life left in me."

"I know", she murmured. "You never give up, my dear stubborn King."

He smiled at that.

"Indeed I don't", he said lightly. "And that is why I won your consent, did I not?"

Lothíriel made a sound between a chuckle and a snort.

"Oh, yes. Right from the moment you first saw me, you never stopped chasing after me", she said. Fear in her eyes was replaced with mirth. Now looking back, especially at that time she had tried to flee him, merely seemed amusing.

"Well, what is a man supposed to do when a beautiful woman rides from the shadows of the evening, shooting arrows as she goes, and happens to take down an orc right behind the said man?" Éomer asked, reminiscing that evening when he had first seen her.

"I thought you deemed me mad. I didn't realise I made actually a positive impression on you", she commented, grinning at him.

"Of course I deemed you mad. To be honest, I still don't believe I was wrong to think so", Éomer said lightly, which made her punch his shoulder. He kissed her nevertheless, and then rested his forehead against hers. "You may be deranged, dear madwoman of mine, but that doesn't make me love you any less."

His beloved bride chortled at his words. Her clever fingers found their way to the fastening of his coat, and she began to work over it.

"They do say that madness attracts more of its kind", she told him nonchalantly, pulling the fastening undone.

"That sounds something like you only just came up with from the top of your head", he answered, shrugging his coat from his shoulders.

"But it's true, Sire, as far as you're concerned", Lothíriel answered, grinning at him again. "Everyone keeps telling me you're mental. Éowyn says so too, and she's never wrong. And if half of the things I hear you did in the Battle of Pelennor Fields is true, then I can but contend you indeed are quite mad."

"Nonsense. Éowyn is a biased source of information anyway", said Éomer as he unfastened the brooch of her dark cloak.

"Then how do you explain that time you blindfolded me and made love to me in the stables of Dol Amroth while everyone – my brothers included – were outside looking for you?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows.

"You seem to forget that we had been parted for months. I just missed you a lot", he said innocently.

"That you did, beloved. I think I still have your fingerprints instilled to my bottom", she muttered, undoing the lacing on the front of his linen shirt. "What of the insane feats you performed to make me agree to marry you?"

"It's a lovely bottom, but you know that already... as for my actions when I wooed you, Lady Archer, that was dedication", he answered. "Do you think your father would appreciate yet another serenade under your window in the middle of night?"

"Your singing voice is very beautiful, but I fear Father might throw his boots at you if you sneak into his garden to conjure more music", Lothíriel said. She giggled then, "and you're lucky that my family doesn't know Rohirric to realise what you actually sang to me last time."

"It's your own fault for daring me", he murmured into her hair as he sought her earlobe with his lips. "You know very well that I have absolutely no self-control when it comes to you."

"Oh, I do", Lothíriel moaned. She had finally undone the lacing of his shirt, which he pulled over his head and threw away. She on the other hand was now concentrating on his breeches. His bride nibbled at his lower lip, and smiled: "Your lack of self-control is one of the many things I truly adore in you, Sire."

"You ought to, considering how eagerly you provoke it", he growled, seeking for the hems of her gown.

"Don't pretend you don't like it", she said. "Though I still wonder how little provocation it took to make you kiss me for the third time."

"We were alone in the garden, it was a lovely night, and you were very beautiful", he answered. Finally, her gown pooled about her feet – she hadn't even bothered to put on an underskirt, the wanton thing – she was uncovered at last.

"And you had drunk a fair amount of wine", she reminded him. "You tasted like south that night."

"Of course I had lots of wine. Otherwise I might have grabbed you in the middle of a dance floor and Béma knows what I'd have done then", he told her. "And what horrifying behaviour that would have been, with Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond watching."

"Horrifying indeed", she breathed, looking up at him with eyes darkened by desire, "but I'm not sure I'd have minded."

He growled as an answer to that; conversing was starting to become bothersome. _He wanted her, now. _

She appeared to share his sentiment, for she pushed him to the bed and followed behind, settling to straddle his hips... and for the longest time, no more words were exchanged.

* * *

Apparently, he had dozed off for a bit, for which he scolded himself as he returned to waking world. It was the last night he'd have with his wife-to-be in some time, and here he was wasting it by snoring away! Lothíriel was awake, however. When he stirred, she looked up at him... and a wave of tenderness washed over him as he looked at her. She was safely nestled in the crook of his arm, and her warm body was pressed against his own.

He remembered the first time they had lain together like a husband a wife. It had taken place almost a year ago now, in the woods of Cormallen... he had ridden from Rohan to participate in the celebrations for the fall of Sauron, as had many other veterans of the War of the Ring. There, on one night of summer, she had lead him into the forest... and under the moon and the stars, she had asked to have him. Though they had taken their chances whenever they had been able after that, he still considered that night in the woods the happiest of his life. He knew it was not at all the Gondorian way of betrothal, and intimacy was something for only married couples... but then, Lothíriel wasn't like the rest of them. She had decided to marry him, and he suspected that in her eyes that mere decision was as abiding as the vows of marriage. In other words, it didn't matter whether they waited until the wedding night or not, for he was already hers.

During their courtship and betrothal, he had watched her flourish and grow. Gone was that incomprehensible girl who was a bizarre mixture of confidence and insecurity... replaced by this fierce Lioness he loved more with each day that passed. Indeed she had learned the steadfastness of her heart and will, and he knew she'd make a wonderful queen when that blessed day came that they'd be wed. Sometimes, it was overwhelming to understand it was his entrance to her life that had helped her to find this place where she shined. And even more he was grateful that she had let him in her heart and showed him what strength and light she carried inside.

"I thought you had fallen asleep already", Lothíriel said, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"I did visit the realm of dreams for a bit... but decided it was better here than there", Éomer answered. He rolled to lay on his side, pulling her closer. Limbs entangling, they rested in each other's arms. Idly he considered the possibility of stealing her and wedding her right away. Maybe he'd be able to ride after Aragorn in about a week? But then she kissed him, and he thought: _make that two weeks. _

"I need to go soon", she said after a moment, though he could see just how much she wanted to stay.

"Aye", he agreed nonetheless. Though they were betrothed to be married, he still knew his bed was not the place for her to be found in when the morning came. Gondorians could be so uptight about things like that.

"You'll be careful?" Lothíriel asked quietly, worry shining in her eyes.

"Of course. I always am", Éomer reassured her. "And when I do come back, I'll marry you."

She smiled at that and rested a hand on his cheek.

"May that day come soon", said the Princess softly. "I love you, Éomer."

"I love you too, Lothíriel."

Soon afterwards, she left... and for the longest time, he stood by the window, watching her shadowy figure climb down, hurry through the garden below, and then disappear.

On the morrow, he'd ride for war.

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**A/N: **And here's a quick-ish update, as I promised! I treat you, my dear readers, with a bit of romance before we plunge properly into this part of the story. I have a feeling it will be very much needed. I present this chapter as a separate from the last and the next, because honestly I don't think this amorous encounter would have fit in with either of the chapters around it. Anyway, we'll return to the usual length in the next chapter.

Our lovers have indeed taken that next step in their relationship, but when I considered this matter I quickly decided it was something they would do. After all, their courtship was hardly the traditional sort, and Lothíriel at least is the kind of person when she has set her heart on something, that's the course she'll follow in fierce determination. Like Éomer muses, in her eyes just the agreement to marriage is as valid as the actual vows. I would also imagine that the scene by the river in the beginning of their story would at least have mostly stripped them of the kind of modesty that lovers might feel before their first time together. And anyway, they have been so straightforward with each other all the time, that from their point of view including the physical aspect to their relationship doesn't seem very dramatic change anyway (though I'm sure they've taken precautions to make sure there's no accidental pregnancies. That would be difficult to explain).

As usual, thanks for the comments! Hope you liked this chapter!

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Inspiration for the chapter: Hans Zimmer - And Then I Kissed Him

Quote in the beginning originally by Henry van Dyke.

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**Sandy-wmd - **Ominous certainly was my intention! :)

**solar1 - **Yeah, I realised it might come as a disappointment that I didn't write that scene into the story. I'll consider writing it as an aside, but I'll make no promises!

**Le Pleiade - **As a writer I am pleased to hear I was able to move you so! Hopefully this chapter cheers you up at least. :)

**Elealyon - **Thanks for your comments! I'm glad to see you continue to enjoy the story! :) Also I'm happy to hear you appreciate the writing choice I made by not including the actual scene of proposal/agreement. But if more people are so anxious to see it, I may just have to consider writing it after all. As to how Éomer reacted to the scene, he did react exactly as you said - with amazement and admiration. I believe the crowd present shared the sentiment, because I see Rohirrim as people who appreciate that kind of boldness, and this kind of scene was probably more than welcome anyway after the heavy times of war.

I would really love to answer to your comments about "what comes next", but I don't want to spoil anything. Nevertheless, your remarks are very interesting and I appreciate it very much. Only thing I can say is that I must let the story itself answer to your thoughts!

**Wondereye - **I thought so as well. She's the kind of person who, if she decides to agree to marriage, would do it just in such a way.

I'm not sure if Éothain noticed her - he was probably close to his king and was likely busy supervising the crowd, so probably he didn't have time to see Lothíriel in the crowd. As for how long it was since Éomer's last visit, I'm thinking maybe month or two.


	13. Chapter 12

"In the vast deserts of Harad there are many wondrous creatures, and it is said that majority of them are somehow dangerous to the careless who do not know the paths of the south. But one of the most dangerous is the black snake that hides itself in sand, and lies there in wait for the prey. So quietly it will lie that even the wise would take it for dead, but then on the last moment it will strike, and its poison can bring down a grown, healthy man. It is not for an idle reason that the greatest warleaders of Harad bear the Black Serpent as their standard."

- Balangon, Of the Beasts and Birds of the South

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**Chapter 12**

_Early May 3021, near the mouth of River Harnen, Western Haradwaith_

The camp of Gondorian and Rohirric troops spread under Chieftain Sapat's feet great and formidable. Even after the War of the Ring, there was such strength in the western kingdoms, and it certainly did make him feel uncomfortable. Even more so now that those troops had been riding and marching back and forth all over the coastline, chasing pirates and destroying their hideouts. Word of this terrible campaign had reached Sapat's ears as well, even though his tribe lived on the deserts and as such they had no part in piracy... except when they traded for slaves and other goods.

He had organised a war party and travelled to the coast... but not with the intention of engaging the force that now was resting in a sheltering valley before him. Oh, he had not come here to join forces with the pirates, and anyway they were good as defeated already. Sapat had come here for a far more personal quest.

"We can't fight a force like that", pointed out his second in command, a man called Tharm.

"And we aren't going to do that. It would be slaughter", Sapat said, rolling his eyes. Of course Tharm would think he had planned such a suicide mission. Apparently it was high time he started to think of a replacement for his right arm man.

"But the King of horselords is there. How are we ever going to get to him?" Tharm asked.

"Did you actually think I'd try and get to him when he's surrounded by the combined forces of Rohan and Gondor?" asked Sapat and spat on the ground. "No. We will do as the sand snakes do. We will choose our place, and lay in waiting until he comes to _us. _And then we'll strike."

"It's still going to be dangerous. They say he's a great warrior. He's not going to go down without a fight", said his second in command.

"Are you craven, Tharm?" asked Sapat coldly, which made the other man squirm in embarrassment.

"Of course not, chieftain", he quickly said.

"You do sound awfully lot like one", said the chieftain, contempt colouring his voice. "No matter what kind of a fighter he is, the King of Rohan is still just a mortal man. And mortal men can be taken down and broken."

"But I once heard a man from Gondor saying: 'leave a horselord with his life and he may yet conquer'. If we are to go against him, we should just kill him", Tharm argued.

"No. I have something else entirely in store for him. Death is too simple, too merciful. _No. _This northern king will live and know the full extent of despair... perhaps then I will give him the gift of death, when he breaks", said Sapat, and as he spoke those words, hatred so black burned in his eyes that Tharm covered and pulled back, leaving his chieftain alone with his vengeful thoughts.

* * *

The campaign had been been a successful one. For a month Éomer and Aragorn's joined forces had stormed the coast, hunting for pirates and their lairs where they'd hide when returning from their plundering voyages. They had purged dozen such places, and a word came from Dol Amroth that Imrahil's fleet was equally successful in battling the pirates that had sought escape from the sea. His own son Erchirion was reported to have reached a great victory against a fleet of pirates.

Indeed, there would be much to celebrate for, especially when the Gondorian and Rohirric troops themselves had suffered very little in the battles. With the joined strength of Gondorian infantry and riders of Rohan, it looked like anything could be achieved.

But the King of Rohan was restless, and he was waiting for the day of return. Though days were filled with much haste and it was usually well after night had fallen that he could finally succumb to rest, his mind was already turning itself towards future... and the time when he would see his bride again. To ease at least some of his anxiety he had taken a moment to care for Firefoot, as there was something calming about the routine of looking after his stallion.

Lothíriel had not been happy to see them go – she had sternly lectured both Éomer and Amrothos about the importance of staying alive – but only for a moment would she show any vulnerability. That was when she hugged him tight and whispered her love softly in his ear. He had promised he'd return and she had even smiled, and in a week or so he'd see her again.

That was what Éomer was thinking of when his friend Aragorn approached him, gesturing his guards to stand back so that the two kings could converse in peace. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Aragorn had the long life of Númenor, for one would not have guessed the amount of years he had lived... but in his wisdom and in the keen piercing of his eyes, you could see it. Yet Aragorn's crown had been forged in the same fires of war from where Éomer had emerged as the Lord of the Mark. In this, they were brothers, if not in blood.

"You never take a minute of rest, do you, brother?" asked Elessar. He was smiling that gentle half-smile of his, which seemed to come more from his eyes than from his lips.

"Doing things helps me also to think", Éomer answered, briefly grinning at his friend. "And sometimes, forget."

"Of course", Aragorn said, greeting Firefoot with a gentle pat to the stallion's neck. "It's not long now. We'll be back to Minas Tirith soon enough."

"I know. But you know me, my friend. I won't have any peace before we are returned", answered the younger man quietly.

"I am grateful, Éomer, for your aid. I understand how difficult it was for you to ride with me at this time, and I promise this debt will be repaid", Aragorn said softly, resting a hand on the Rohir's shoulder. The King of Rohan smiled at that.

"There are no debts between the two of us, brother", he merely said, and his words made his friend smile too.

He patted the neck of his warhorse then and turned towards his friend.

"I'm quite finished here. Would you care to join me for a drink?" Éomer asked.

"Gladly, my friend", Aragorn answered, and the two men began to make their way through the camp. A light atmosphere had fallen there, doubtlessly created by the successfulness of the campaign and the impeding prospect of going home. As ever, the two kings were greeted with excited shouts from their men; Rohirric fractions even called them to sit and share their skins of ale. With a smile, Aragorn commented this all reminded him of Fields of Cormallen and the light festive mood that had slowly but surely replaced the curious grief both kings had felt on the day of Sauron's fall. It was not that they had not been glad for the shadow ending, but both of them had seen so many dear friends and family members die for that, and so the mirth of victory was mingled with sadness.

Towards the centre of the camp resided the pavilions of the Kings of Gondor and Rohan. There the royal standards, the White Tree and the White Horse, stood side by side, like the tents not far behind the banners. It was the one belonging to Éomer they ventured into, and the guards by the doorway bowed their heads at the two kings.

As a rider and a Marshal, Éomer had got used to bringing few personal possessions along when he rode to battles. It all had changed when he had become the King: now he had an actual bed, along with some portable furniture, and rugs of fur and the royal standard behind the seat that served as something of a throne. It almost felt like a house, with the way there were hangings that parted the sleeping quarters from the front part where he had his audiences or planned war with Aragorn and their lieutenants.

The young king gestured his friend to sit down and moved over to pour them some wine, as that drink was more available in these parts; most of the Haradrim tribes had moved to the east, but some had no qualms about trading with the northern men, and it certainly helped with the maintenance of their forces. After offering his friend a cup, he sat down opposite his fellow king.

"You know, this all strangely reminds me of the last time we were on the battle-field together", said Aragorn then.

"It does? Well, I suppose it's not entirely untrue. If you've seen one battle, you've seen most of them", Éomer commented. "But much has changed since the War of the Ring and the fight is not quite so desperate."

"Yes. Much has indeed changed", Aragorn said softly. "For one, we have both moved on with our lives. Do you remember how we used to be?"

That made the younger king grin.

"Oh, I do. Most of the time you looked like you had just stumbled out of a forest and one had hard time believing somewhere under that surface was a king, and I..." he said, but then fell silent and frowned.

"You were so angry all the time", Aragorn finished the sentence for him. "I'm glad to see that changed."

"Well, you're not wrong. Anger was what kept me going even when it seemed there was no hope. I was even angry at my cousin and Uncle for leaving me with the crown. But I've found different motivation since then, which is good, because I don't really have any anger left to fuel myself", Éomer said, smiling half to himself. "You are right, though. We have changed a lot since then."

Aragorn laughed and took a mouthful of his wine.

"I must say, I didn't see that one coming. I seem to remember that originally you _were _quite angry with the reason of your lighter mood of late", he pointed out.

"Of course I was angry _then. _I didn't know better", answered the King of Rohan, "but I learned quickly, if I may say so."

"You did, my friend", Aragorn agreed. "How do your people receive it? Are they disappointed that you chose a Gondorian to be your wife and queen?"

"There were some conversations about it in the beginning, aye. It was even said that a Gondorian noblewoman would never survive in the Mark. I made it very clear I would not reconsider my choice, however..." Éomer answered. His face turned again into a smile, "and you saw how it was when she came with her family to attend to my uncle's funeral. Then she came with her brother and made that proposal scene... ever since I haven't heard anyone even muttering about her being unsuitable."

His friend chuckled at the memories. The princess had been quite at home in Edoras, perhaps even in ways she had never been back in her own home. And her boldness had certainly made an impression on the Rohirrim.

"And my advisers did agree that a marriage to a Gondorian princess would be a politically smart move. But that, to be honest, is only a minor issue... brother, sometimes I think I've never made a better decision than I did when I rode with uncle to Minas Tirith", said the young king.

"Aye. All this, the life we and our peoples now have, did not seem quite possible then", Aragorn commented softly. "Though I must admit I sometimes miss the old days. Things were simpler, and most of the time all I had to worry about were mundane things like where I'd sleep the next night, or where my travels would take me next."

He sipped his wine again and smiled, "Don't get me wrong, however. In the end I wouldn't really want to go back to those days, for they were lonely and dark when I compare them to the present."

The King of Gondor fell silent and Éomer knew he was thinking of his wife. He too briefly thought of Arwen Undómiel, and of the wonder he too had felt when he had beheld Elrond's daughter for the first time. Though she certainly was the fairest thing he had ever seen, there was also something intimidating about her beauty. But Aragorn was happy and nothing else mattered.

"I do understand that feeling. My life as a Marshal was far simpler as well", he said at length. "But though it's not always too easy to be the king, it has also brought some things into my life I might have not known otherwise."

Aragorn nodded quietly in agreement.

"And it is far easier to do this knowing that one has an ally as faithful as you. It was a blessed day that we met on the plains, brother", he said, smiling as he spoke.

"I rather agree", answered the younger king.

Some time after, Elessar bid him good night and went about his way. The King of Rohan himself exchanged few words with his Marshals, and then decided it was time for some rest before yet another busy day.

When he lay himself down in bed, he thought of all the prosperity that had blessed his kingdom during past two years, his friends old and new, and that day hopefully not so far in the future now when he'd have his Queen in Meduseld. He thought of Lothíriel and the knowledge that soon he'd see her again... and fell asleep with a smile on his face.

_Life was good. _

* * *

"Sapat, old snake! Good to see you again", called Krual's familiar gruff voice as he entered the tent. Sapat was in the middle of honing his scimitar, but he put the weapon aside and got up to greet his blood-brother.

"I was already starting to think maybe you wouldn't come after all", he answered as he took a firm hold of his friend's calloused hand. Krual's dark eyes gave a stark contrast to his almost white hair that billowed wildly about his face.

"Have I ever disappointed you, friend? You called me, so of course I came. A chance to kill some horselords is always appreciated", he answered lightly.

Sapat poured them some sweet white wine from southern Gondor – a drink he had always been fond of, though it usually took a trip to the havens along the coast to get it. He gestured his friend to sit down on the cushions on the floor.

As soon as they both had their drinks and were seated comfortably, Krual gave him a thoughtful look.

"Now, I'd like to hear more of this plan of yours. Though I'm happy as ever to get to fight horselords, I would also want to get out alive as well", he said.

"No worries, friend. I have everything figured out, and I very much intend to live to enjoy my achievements", answered Sapat. He allowed himself a dark little smile as he thought of the plan. The mere idea of the King of the horsemasters in his mercy was exciting.

"What would those achievements be then?" Krual asked.

"I mean to ambush and capture the King of Rohan", announced Sapat, which almost made his friend choke on his drink. It took a moment for the other man to clear his throat, and when he did speak again his face was doubtful.

"I would call you mad, old friend", he said, "but perhaps I'll first give you a chance of proving that untrue."

"Oh, I know how it sounds", said Sapat nonchalantly and sipped his wine. He'd have to acquire more, for that glorious moment when his end was finally reached. "I have no intention to go after that man now that he's surrounded by the forces of Gondor and Rohan. But a day after tomorrow, he won't be."

"How do you intend to achieve that?" asked Krual doubtfully. As an answer, Sapat smiled and called a guard; the man standing watch at the doorway peeked in.

"What is it, chieftain?" asked the guard.

"Send in Palkas", Sapat ordered.

Moments later, the man in question stepped in.

In a uniform stripped off a fallen Gondorian soldier, Palkas looked enough of a man of that land to actually pass as a messenger from north. His mother had been from Gondor, captured in a pirate raid and taken to a wife by a man of Sapat's own tribe, who had bought her at the slave markets. From her Palkas had also learned the way Gondorians talked and behaved, and there was no accent in his speech that usually betrayed those who did not speak Common Tongue as their native language.

Krual studied Palkas from head to toe and cast an inquiring look at his friend.

"This fellow here is called Palkas. He's one of my own men, but as you can see he can pass as a Gondorian man. Tomorrow, he'll ride into the camp of the western lords, and he'll deliver the King of Gondor an important message. That message should be enough to send the King of Rohan racing back north", Sapat explained. At his gesture, Palkas saluted and then exited the tent. The chief took another mouthful of his wine, and then continued, "In fact, I imagine he should be so anxious that he will take the quickest road north."

"Oh. I think I'm starting to see where this is leading", said Krual and narrowed his eyes in interest. "You mean he'll take the way through the hills."

"Yes. You know how the land is there. He'll be in hurry, so he won't take too many men with him... and if he's riding with a small enough company, it'll be easy to ambush them and take them down. After all, they have all but finished off the pirates, and most of the tribes have retreated to the east – for all they know, these parts are empty of their enemies. In the rocky valleys there are plenty of places for one to set a trap for horsemen", Sapat said. The plan was beautiful in its simplicity, and he could almost taste the victory already.

"I understand this is where myself and my men come in", Krual assumed.

"That is right. My own tribe isn't quite enough, but if you would lend your help..." said the other man.

"... we'll have a force strong enough even to bring down the King of Rohan", his friend finished the sentence. He scratched thoughtfully at his beard. "I see one problem in this, though. Do you expect the King of Gondor and the horsemaster's own men to just let this deed go unpunished? Won't they try to find him?"

"I have thought of that as well. That is why we will make it look like a band of surviving pirates did it to get vengeance on this war campaign. They can run around after that folk all they want, if there's any left on the coast", answered Sapat lightly. "As for the King of Rohan himself... they won't come looking for him, for they will think him dead."

"But you don't mean to kill him?"

"Oh, I do. Eventually I will kill him. But that is for much, much later", said the black-eyed man and let just a hint of a smile enter his face.

"I rather like this plan of yours, old friend. You can count on my help, for I too would like some payback for the grievances of the Great War... we would have won, if not for the horselords", Krual said and a look of hatred flashed in his eyes.

"Yes, we would. And Tanfuksham, my blood-brother and the one who men called the Black Serpent, would still be alive", Sapat growled. "Alas, the man who slew him is dead... but his heir committed crimes of his own, the blood of my kin has flown because of him, and there is a vengeance you can give even to a man who has died. That is, by ending his kin and House... and the new King of Rohan is the last of his line."

"I thought the horselord had a sister. The one who killed the Witch King", Krual pointed out, but Sapat snorted in contempt.

"She's just a woman. Not worth our while, and anyway she lives among the Gondorians now. She's not going to restore her fallen House when her brother is gone", he said nonchalantly.

"And with him, House of Eorl will be finished and wiped away from this world", concluded Krual.

"Correct. You know what they say of the Black Serpent, after all", said Chief Sapat. His friend nodded in understanding.

"Cut off his head, and he will grow a new one to bite you back", he replied.

"Yes. And he is now quite ready to sink his teeth in this horselord."

* * *

The Kings of the West were in the middle of planning the march back to north when a guard at the doorway of the tent stepped in. Aragorn looked up from the map he had been studying and looked at the guard who saluted.

"What is it, Feredir?" he asked.

"My lord, there is a messenger from Gondor. He asks to see you – as I understand, the matter is very urgent", said the guard.

"Send him in", Elessar ordered. Guard bowed his head and went outside, and in came a man dressed in the garb of Gondorian soldier. Curly-haired and dark-eyed, he was probably from the southern parts of the kingdom. These days there was a lot of traffic in the realm however, and since the War many a young man had been recruited all over the kingdom to replace those who had fallen in the great battles.

"My lord, I bring a word from Steward Faramir. It concerns the King of Rohan as well", said the messenger and offered a scroll to Aragorn. At the mention of his name the tall Rohir stood up straighter as he wondered what this was about. If Faramir, left in charge while the King was waging war, was contacting them now and the matter somehow concerned him... either it had something to do with Éowyn or some ill news had come from the Mark. Whichever it was, he felt uneasy and anxiously awaited his friend read the message.

Aragorn quickly scanned through the scroll and it was as Éomer feared, for a frown had come to his friend's face.

"What is it? Has something happened?" he demanded impatiently.

"Faramir writes that Éowyn is gravely ill", said Aragorn quietly, his voice heavy with concern, "and she asks for her brother."

A sense of dread and disquietude instantly fell on the young king, and his first instinct was to jump on Firefoot right away and race north. This couldn't be happening! Not now, when Éowyn had finally found her happiness! And not only that, for she was all that was left of his family. _He couldn't lose her too. _

"Does he write what is wrong with her?" Éomer asked quickly, uncomfortably aware of how weak his voice had become.

"No. It seems he wrote this in great haste, and his hand is barely readable..." Aragorn muttered. He glanced at the messenger, "Did you see Lady Éowyn? Or did the Steward give you any other orders?"

"He didn't, my lord. He only bid me to make haste. Lord Steward was out of his mind with worry for his lady wife", said the man solemnly. His words sent yet another surge of dread through the King of Rohan.

"I must go and see to her. If she's asking me..." he said, trying to gather himself again and figure out what precisely he would have to do before he could leave for the road.

"Of course. She wouldn't have asked you to come all the way from here unless it was very important", Elessar agreed. Then he gently placed a hand on Éomer's shoulder. "Don't worry. The healers in Minas Tirith are very good. They will take care of her."

"But what if-" began the Rohir, but his friend cut his words short.

"Don't you think like that. She's in good hands. Éowyn is strong – stronger even than you can imagine. She didn't survive her ordeals in the Battle of Pelennor Fields for nothing", Aragorn said gently.

"I know. She's made of steel", Éomer said weakly and tried to smile. "What of you? Will you manage here by yourself, if I go? You'll be content if I leave Elfhelm in command?"

"Of course. Your lieutenant and captains are all good and capable men, and I would never hold you back if your sister needs you", Aragorn said and offered the younger king a comforting smile. "Go to her, Éomer. We will take care of all here."

* * *

Despite his hurry and anxiety to get to Éowyn as quickly as he could, it still took some arrangements for the young king to be able to leave. After all, the Lord of the Mark couldn't just jump on the saddle and race away when he felt like it, even if he knew that Elfhelm would be able to take care of things in his absence. The fair-haired man reassured him that all would run smoothly.

As he meant to make haste, Éomer only took along his guard. All of them were capable men, seasoned in many battles and valiant to the bone. Riding through the lands should not be too dangerous anyway, what with the pirates and their hideouts mostly destroyed. And the tribes of Haradrim – those that had not moved away to the east – had for the most part been benevolent, assisting as guides and messengers and providing the camp with merchants small and large, who would sell goods of varying kind or offer smith's services, or perhaps some female company for those with coin and taste for that kind of thing. Of course not all tribes were too friendly, and it was known that many supporters of Sauron still remained among them, but as far as the spies and scouts could tell the more hostile tribes had made their way east as soon as the joined forces of Gondor and Rohan had entered the land. Moreover, the Great War had left their fighting forces with heavy losses that had not yet healed. And the tribes of Haradrim joined forces only very rarely. The fear of Sauron might have been strong enough to achieve it, but for the most parts the tribes were content in their own ways and freedom, and they bowed to no great lords.

The King's Company would ride fast, and so they'd pass through the more perilous parts before a word of it would even be delivered to any ears of enemies, and once they'd enter the realm of Gondor it would be easy way up to Minas Tirith, where Faramir and Éowyn were staying. A Harad guide would come along to show a short cut through the hills, by which way they'd save an entire day that would have otherwise gone to a safer path that travelled through the inland.

Éomer and his riders were set to leave on first light when most of the camp was still in slumber or just about to wake up. Aragorn and Amrothos – who had joined the campaign as a representative of his father – were there to see him off, though the prince himself looked like he was only half awake.

"There are still some things I'd like to speak of with you, but I suppose those will have to wait for when we return to Minas Tirith", said Aragorn; horses were being readied, the royal standard lifted from where it had stood by the tent. It was almost time for departure.

"Aye. I'll wait for your arrival there. Hopefully by that time my sister will be better as well", Éomer answered. He secured his vambraces for one last time and his hand briefly rested on the hilt of Guthwínë; on the feel and the weight of his sword, there was always something reassuring.

"If things turn ill, do not hesitate to send a word. I'll come as quickly as my horse will carry me", his friend told him quietly. The young king didn't dare to think of that and certainly he wouldn't trust his voice, so he nodded in silence.

"And try not to wed that sister of mine while you're there. You owe us all a proper Rohirric wedding", Amrothos said, ever the jester. But it was a trait one could appreciate, for his japes were always meant to lighten the mood.

"You should be careful what you wish for, Amrothos", Éomer said and even smiled a little.

"Bring my regards to Faramir and Éowyn, and to my wife", Aragorn said. Then he took the younger king's hand and touched his shoulder. "Safe travel, brother."

"Thank you. Try not to run everything into chaos here while I'm gone, will you?" answered the Lord of the Mark, at which his friend chortled. The men exchanged their goodbyes, and then the King's Company mounted their horses, and started for the way.

The camp was quickly left behind. Their guide rode up in front, and behind him the standard bearer, and then the rest of the Company. As the King was more or less in hurry, they kept up good pace, and would ride all the way until evening. The sooner they made it out of these lands, the better... and Éomer himself thought of his sister in concern, wondering what illness had come to her. He dared not to think of the worst that could happen, for the idea of a world without Éowyn was terrifying as ever. There were still times when he woke up in the middle of the night, haunted by all the horrors he had seen on the Pelennor Fields. And that moment when he had seen his sister and thought her fallen and all hope had died in his heart... he had never told her that sometimes he still relived it in nightmares.

But Éowyn had survived thanks to Aragorn. Surely his friend couldn't have saved her just so that some malady could claim her life?

They eventually entered a rocky valley which would take them a straighter road towards Gondor. The way downhill was uneven and quite treachery, and so the riders had dismounted to carefully lead down their horses to the bottom of the valley where the ground was less hazardous. None of them wanted their steeds breaking a limb in this terrain.

"You're thinking about your lady sister, aren't you?" commented Éothain, the faithful old warhorse. The poor man's face was a patchwork of sun-burnt skin, which had earned him the nickname of "the Lizard" among the men. Éothain had received the nickname with good humour, even going as far as grinning and telling his king that it was only fitting. "You're the Lion and I'm the Lizard. Someone should make a song about that", he had said.

"Aye. I wonder what is wrong with her", Éomer answered, frowning as he spoke. He guessed Faramir hadn't elaborated on the matter because the healers didn't know what was wrong with her, and also because he had been too distressed to really think through his message.

"Don't worry about it, old friend. Maybe Faramir just overreacted or something. You know how he can be when it comes to your sister. You remember what we used to say, back before the Great War?" asked the captain; one could always trust on him to pay careful heed to his king's moods and have just the thing to say. Even now, his words made his friend smile.

"I do. It was agreed that even if all else perished, Éowyn would somehow endure", he said. Sometimes he felt that was even more true after she had found Faramir.

"To this day I think it was true", Éothain commented and gave his king a comforting smile.

They fell silent then, for the ground became more perilous and they had to pay careful heed as not to have their horses hurting themselves.

But at last they were on the bottom of the valley and the Company mounted their horses again. As they rode forward, Éomer considered the lands about them. It couldn't have been more different to the windy, green plains of his kingdom, and with longing he thought of the Riddermark. Here the days were long and hot even though May had only just arrived, and the nights colder than one would have expected of a land so far in south. The vegetation was sparse and stunted; apparently it only got worse inland until deserts gave way for jungles. And the dust! Dust and sand were everywhere, and Éomer was fairly sure Firefoot carried at least half the deserts of Harad in his coat, and the other half was located in all kinds of uncomfortable places inside his own armour.

On the banks the river Harnen there was at least some greenery, but that stream wasn't strong enough to give life to the rest of these rocky hills and valleys where, it appeared, only snakes and scorpions lived, along with nasty-looking birds one Harad guide had called vultures.

All in all, Éomer had quickly decided he didn't like this land, and the sooner he got back to his own realm the better.

The day began to grow older, and eventually Éothain lead his stallion beside the King.

"How much longer do you plan for us to go forward?" he asked.

"I do not really like the look of these hills. I'd like us to get out of this valley before nightfall", he answered his second in command.

"You suspect an attack?" asked the captain.

"Not really, what with the way we have been cleansing these lands of pirates. But if such a foul band should roam these parts, this valley would be a fine place to assault our company", Éomer said, but he did briefly rest his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Aye. And there's little shelter for a camp, too. It's probably for the better if we keep on going", Éothain agreed.

"Still, I'd rather know how much longer this valley road will go", Éomer said.

"I'll go and ask our guide", said his captain, urging his horse, and Éothain made his way towards front, until he was by the side of Gujat, the Harad man leading the way. Idly the young king wondered if two men could have been any more different: the one tall and had long hair of red-gold, and the other slim, dressed in reds and browns, and of a darker complexion than Rohirrim or even Gondorians.

Captain Éothain was evidently in the middle of talking with the guide when the attack did come. A great cry rose from the hills, and men clothed in sand-coloured cloaks swarmed down the hillsides. Up in front, a landslide of rocks cut their road and effectively prevented all attempts of escape... and then, as Éomer was shouting commands for his men to regroup and form their defence, the bowmen took their positions. Arrows rained, and all about him were cries of men and horses, and by an arrow Éothain fell from saddle; Éomer shouted the name of the captain, but his dear friend did not move or answer.

But then enemies flooded the valley, casting aside their cloaks to reveal clothing of pirates, and all about the King of Rohan was death as his loyal men fought to defend his life, and like on that day in the Pelennor Fields he felt that coldness inside himself... the freezing surety that this was the end. But this time Aragorn would not come to his aid; here was his fate.

For though they fought as valiantly as ever, they could not hold back the overpowering strength of this foe; and each man falling was like a stab of sword into his heart, for all these men he had known years and years and fought with them in countless battles...

And Firefoot's legs gave in under him, and his faithful stallion fell fatally wounded – loss of him was a grief just like every other man that lost his life that day. A red haze fell on Éomer's eyes and Guthwínë sang in his hand, a deadly song of death and destruction, and he couldn't think of anything, nothing but _blood blood blood death **I will not see her again...**_

His despair and fury gave him the strength of three men and all around him enemies he hewed down, but in the end it was not enough... at last his last Rider was fought to the ground and his life ended, and Éomer King of Rohan was the last man standing, and all around him lay the bodies of his friends and his guards as well the bodies of enemies they had slain in this final battle.

Then at long last the sight of the faces of the dead, those brave men who had given their lives to defend him, he could feel his strength failing him, but still he would not give in – he wouldn't have any less than a warrior's death. But that was not what they would give him, for from behind hands grabbed him, and in the end it took four men to force him down on his knees and rip away Gúthwinë from his hand. His helmet was torn away and he grit his teeth, waiting for the stroke of sword to behead him... but it never came. Why hadn't they killed him yet? What were they waiting for?

A dark-faced man stepped forward, and though there was a gash on his cheek his expression was of great joy and satisfaction, as if he didn't even notice any of the ruin and death around him. He stopped on the front of the King and regarded him with unveiled pleasure.

"Well, what are you standing about, sea snake? Finish the job already!" growled Éomer and struggled against the hold of his captors, though it was in vain.

"Bold to the end, I see", said the man in his thick Westron. "Snake I certainly am, but I prefer the deserts to the salt waters. And the job is everything but finished, my good king. No, we're long way still from the end."

"Then what do you want?" asked the King of Rohan.

"Vengeance, pure and simple. Many a kinsman of mine, the Black Serpent not being the least of them, lay dead today because of you and your uncle. I am simply getting my payback", was the answer. The dark-faced man stood a bit straighter, and he smiled – a cold, cruel smile. "I am Chieftain Sapat and you are now my prisoner. Your life belongs to me now, and is mine to do with as I see fit."

He stepped forward then and grabbed the King's head by his hair, forcing him to look up.

"You would do well to start fearing that name now", he hissed, "for I am the one who will kill you."

* * *

After the departure of Éomer and his men, Aragorn was much preoccupied by the running things in the camp, and also planning the nearing event of return home. He was just as anxious to get going as anyone else; with their ends reached and the pirates greatly diminished in number, there was little reason in staying longer.

Elessar was rather preoccupied with all work, though Marshal Elfhelm was a most efficient substitute for his energetic king. He was few years older than the young Rohirric king, seasoned in battles but he had also wisdom uncommon for a man of his age. Seeing Éomer's concern for his sister, he had reassured the man that all would be taken care of in the camp and the King himself could hurry off to see to his sister.

Indeed, if Éowyn was so gravely ill that Faramir would send word to ask for the King of Rohan's presence, then Aragorn and Elfhelm could both agree that nothing should hold back their friend here.

But then, with Éomer gone, it strangely felt like the camp was quieter... there was something loud about the man's presence, even if he was silent himself. He was just one of those people who, though by no intention of their own, demanded one's attention.

The day was busy nonetheless and Aragorn lost the count of time, and night came and then new morning.

At morrow, the voices of guards calling him brought him back from the land of dreams.

"My lord! My lord!" called the voices, and reluctantly Aragorn left behind that pleasant place; he had been dreaming of his wife, and the return to reality where she was far away was harsh.

"What is it?" asked the King of Gondor. The guard was behind the thin veil that parted the sleeping quarters from the rest of the tent.

"Sire, there is a messenger outside. A pirate, it looks like, though he is unarmed. He keeps on insisting he has an important message for King Elessar. Should he be driven away?" asked the guard.

Aragorn considered the possibility of doing just that, though he knew it wasn't probably the smartest move. The message could be something important after all. So he got up and pulled on a robe.

"I'll receive his message", he said at last.

When he was seated on that chair which served as something of a throne and two guards were on his each side, the messenger was escorted in. He had to be of Harad, judging by his look, but he was dressed in that colourful and motley garb pirates were so fond of. In his hands, he carried a wooden box. Aragorn narrowed his eyes.

"I am told you insist you have some important message for me", he said. "I would like to hear it."

The messenger smiled. In his eyes, there was a cold glint that unnerved the King of Gondor very much.

"Our ancient order sends their regards and this gift", said the man, and placed the wooden box on the table nearby. Elessar was growing more suspicious by the moment.

"Open it, if you please", said the King. Who knew what there was in the box? He certainly wouldn't have his hand bitten by some snake, or endanger his life by some other devilry.

He half expected the man to argue and decline, but the messenger's smile just widened as he removed the lid of the box. He laid it aside and let his hand hover over it, as if to prove no venomous creature would jump out.

So Elessar gestured at the guards who had escorted the man in, and they pulled him back; there could very well be weapons hidden inside his clothing, and Aragorn decided he'd rather not have the man sticking a blade to him while his back was turned.

Quietly, as an ill feeling and a sense of foreboding filled him, he stood up and approached the box. Even before he lay eyes on its content he knew it was going to be something very bad, and a part of him wanted to never see it.

When Aragorn looked inside the box, his blood turned to ice.

There, on the front of his eyes, were two objects: a helmet with white horsetail and the royal standard of the Mark, and the White Horse of Rohan was spotted with blood.

* * *

**A/N: ***breathes heavily*

So we go down with a bang. We have now reached a part of this story that, I think, makes use of the M rating. It's actually the first time I've ever even tried writing anything like this, so I hope you'll be gentle with me, my dear readers. I don't think I'm a very good action writer, but then again you can never learn if you don't try, can you? Still, I hope at least this is a believable turn of events in your eyes. It is for me, but the writer isn't always the best judge of that. Hopefully I have been able to create this setting as something you can buy, my dear readers!

Canonically Théoden did indeed slay the great commander of Haradrim in the Battle of Pelennor fields. He is only referred to as the Black Serpent (also the name of a standard that only great leaders could bear), and I have taken the liberty of naming him here as Tanfuksham. Sapat is of course my own character, and was friend with him. We will likely explore this relationship more. For now let it be said Sapat carries great personal bitterness and wish for vengeance, and has decided to take it out on Éomer.

Proper reactions to this development will have to wait for the next chapter. As the holidays are now approaching I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update, but I'll try to post one chapter per week at least.

Hope you liked the chapter, and thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Talia119 - **Glad to hear you liked it! :) And you're very right - it was very much needed there, especially considering what happens in this chapter.

Oh, I totally understand that! RL is currently being very distracting for me as well.

**Wondereye - **I don't suppose this situation will allow weddings now...

* * *

Inspiration for the chapter: Scorpions - The Good Die Young


	14. Chapter 13

Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, and we are for the Dark. - Ecthelion, The Bard of Lossarnarch

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Lundar was not having a too pleasant day. Well, afternoon, really, and considering the crawling pace of the merchant caravan, soon they'd have to make camp and settle down for the night.

That was one reason for his displeasure on the moment. It was already afternoon and yet they had made such slow travel today, and at this rate it would take at least one and a half days to reach the camp of the great host of the west. That tied closely with their delay, for the word on the road was that the host was about to pick up themselves and head back north.

"... I told you we should have left days – no, weeks – ago already, Hashat. How do you propose we'll sell our goods to them when they're busy marching, I wonder? But no! You had to natter about the pirates and war and other nonsense. Do you see any pirates here?" he grumbled at his friend and brother-in-law, who was also his business partner. Years ago, they had decided to have a caravan of their own, because travelling with numbers was safer on the deserts. And Lundar had thought partnership with Hashat would be a good idea... well, for the most parts it was. But sometimes the old fellow was paranoid like the sand mice. That was the reason they had only left for the road when a word had come that the pirates on the coast were mostly destroyed.

"How was I supposed to know these northmen would be so victorious? And even if they were, you can never trust pirates, like you very well know yourself", Hashat answered, sounding frustrated.

"Hmph. I still say this all will turn out nothing but a complete waste of time", Lundar grumbled. "In this light it's a wonder that those tribesmen we saw before didn't decide to attack us."

"They were obviously in a hurry and there weren't enough of them to attack us, no matter how out of practice our guards are", his friend argued.

Lundar wasn't sure what to say about that, considering Hashat was probably right. He had been a fine fighter in his time, and still had an eye for that sort of thing.

"Well, if we can't do business with those northmen, then we could always make for Umbar and see this travel isn't completely in vain. Though I wonder how enthusiastic they will be for our goods after the war", he said doubtfully. One could never really tell beforehand how wars affected the markets.

"Would you stop complaining already? I've listened to it all the way from our home, and it's getting to my nerves", Hashat grunted, speaking in the tones of someone who had suffered great and unjust abuse.

"I've quite earned my right to natter after having to listen to _your _complaints", Lundar shot back.

The bickering would probably have continued, but then Lundar's son Laukan came running from behind. He was only thirteen summers and the boy's mother certainly didn't approve of Lundar taking him along on business trips, but he had decided it was a high time his son started to learn their family's trade. Laukan looked much like his father but he had the tendency of a wandering mind – a trait not too favourable in a merchant.

"Father! Father!" he called for Lundar, looking distraught and shaken.

"What is it, son? You look like you've seen phantom riders passing by", said his father.

"There are _bodies, _Father! Dead bodies of men and horses! I saw them, there has been a great battle-" Laukan blathered quickly.

"Calm down, my boy! What is this talk about dead bodies?" Lundar asked quickly. Beside him, Hashat had tensed, ever the old warrior.

"It's a little way behind, in that rocky valley road you said we wouldn't take – we went to explore there with Ari, and we found the bodies! There's so many of them and they're all dressed in these green cloaks! And there's pirates too!" said his son, still sounding frantic and anxious.

"Didn't I tell you to not go and wander about with Ari?" Lundar asked sternly, though this matter of green-cloaked men was starting to intrigue him.

"I know, Father, we didn't mean to go too far, but then we saw those bodies, and Ari said we should have left them there, but then I heard a moan and I think someone there is still alive!" Laukan answered. His dark eyes were wide and he was so overwrought that he barely remembered to take a breath between his words.

"Sounds like horselords. I can't think of any other green-cloaked, horse-riding folks who might be travelling in these parts", Hashat grumbled.

"Well, I suppose we will be seeing that in a moment. We should go and investigate", Lundar said.

"I don't think that's too good idea. There might still be pirates around. And even there's none here now, the northmen might think we did it", argued his friend.

"Nonsense, Hashat. Or do you actually try to claim we look like people who could kill a bunch of those fierce and fell horselords?" Lundar pointed out. Hashat thought about it and then shook his head.

"No", he allowed. "Not really."

"Precisely. Now, let us get going!" Lundar said.

The caravan was brought to a stop then, and most of the travelling merchants would stay behind. Lundar and Hashat along with several guards went along, guided by Laukan. The boy still looked rather shaken but also excited. This was probably the most thrilling thing that had happened ever since they had started for the road.

The opening for the valley road wasn't too far behind, and as soon as they had crossed what looked like a landslide, they came across the site of the battle. Quite a fight had indeed taken place there, and now bodies of men and horses lay scattered on the ground. Like Laukan had said, there were those green-cloaked men and closer inspection indeed verified they were of Rohan. There were nineteen, and all appeared to be dead. There were horses as well, and the businessman inside Lundar very much grieved to see all these magnificent steeds so cruelly slain. You didn't see animals that fine in these parts.

Of pirates there was only ten, but all of them bore the marks of a fierce fight. Lundar heard Hashat muttering under his breath there had probably been more casualties to the pirates – there was enough traces of blood to suggest so – but he thought they had taken most of their dead when they had gone. But it didn't really matter what had truly happened, for none of these men would ever rise up again.

"What do you reckon happened here?" he asked Hashat as they gazed about the ruin of the battle. His friend pondered on it for a while before speaking.

"It can't have been too long since the fight ended. The signs of struggle seem fresh still. The horsemen were riding this way, and were ambushed by the pirates. 'Tis a good place for attacking riders, though it looks like the Rohirrim gave them hell... there must have been quite a force of pirates to achieve this. Nevertheless none of the northmen survived to tell the tale... the pirates must have left in haste, and I wonder how many of them made it alive", Hashat answered at length.

"But why would they attack a band of riders?" Lundar wondered out loud.

"I don't know. Perhaps they just thought this retaliation was as good as any", said his friend and shrugged.

"And they paid for it dearly. It seems mad to me, to just attack this random group of riders. Their Lord, and the King of Gondor will not be weakened by it and they'll come back for pirates as long as any remain", said the other man.

"Have pirates ever made any sense? I've said it before and I'll say it again. The sea makes them insane", Hashat remarked.

"Well, that is something I can't argue with", Lundar said. He had never liked pirates; business with them was risky, because they loved nothing like they loved to cheat in their transactions. And they also had an unfortunate way of sticking their blades into their business partners for smallest reasons. Perhaps it was a good thing that those northmen had come hunting for pirates.

"Father!" shouted Laukan then, distracting Lundar from his thoughts. He looked up to see his son kneeling by one body.

"What is it, son?" he asked.

"This man is still alive!" said his boy, and quickly he and Hashat made their way to the man Laukan was hovering over.

He was of similar build and height as the rest of the Rohirrim that now lay dead, and his long hair was matted with blood. An arrow protruded from a spot just above his right collarbone, his left leg was twisted into an unnatural angle, and he was not fully conscious; eyes closed, he was mumbling to himself so quietly that Lundar could not make out any of the words.

"Sturdy folk, these horselords", Lundar commented. "Laukan, do run back to the caravan and send more men. Tell them to bring some canvas for a bier."

"We're going to take him in?" Hashat asked doubtfully when Laukan got up on his feet and started back to where the rest of their company was waiting.

"Of course we are. Weren't you just worried we'd be blamed for this mess? Surely the northmen won't have any reason to think so if we save at least this one man. And anyway, it's not decent to let a man just die if there's any way to help him", Lundar answered decidedly.

"Fine", said his friend. Lundar was happy to see at least in this one thing they could agree.

But then, just when he was about stand up, the Rohir man spoke, louder than his muttering of before.

"What did he say?" Lundar asked his more keen-eared friend, who was still kneeling beside the injured man.

"I think he's calling a name", said Hashat, frowning as he leaned closer to listen. The golden-haired man uttered again: _"__Éomer... Éomer..." _

Hashat's eyes became very wide and he turned to look at Lundar.

"Do you know that name?" he asked.

"No, of course not. Why should I?" the other man wondered out loud.

"Because that is the name of the King of Rohan", he said very solemnly. Of course the old warrior would remember things like that.

Nevertheless, Lundar blinked in surprise. _Well. _This was certainly an interesting development.

"Do you think he's the King?" he asked.

"I don't know. But he could be, and if there's even smallest chance that _this _here is the King of the horselords, and _we _save his life..." Hashat said, his voice trailing off.

"I see", Lundar said, nodding emphatically. "It is of utmost importance that we do whatever we can for him."

Laukan returned them with two men; they brought canvas just as ordered. A quick glance about confirmed there were plenty of tall spears around, and they could be used to build a bier to carry the injured man.

Hashat got up on his feet, resting his hands on his hips. He had that look on his face, the one Lundar had named "the General".

"You two, start building a bier for this injured fellow here. Laukan, you should run again back to the others and order here as many men as can be spared. The rest may go and find some proper place for a camp", he commanded. The two men who had brought canvas got up to their task readily enough, but Laukan seemed annoyed for having to run around like this. But he had never dared to argue with Hashat, and so he once again turned to return to the caravan.

"What do you mean to do with those men?" asked Lundar.

"We'll see rest of these poor buggers buried", his friend said in a voice that did not stand arguments.

"Really?" asked the younger man.

"Yes. For one, I spent too many years as a warrior to let others of my trade to lay like this as food to the vultures. We'll see them into their grave, even if that delays us. Secondly, if that injured man there indeed is the King of Rohan, he should appreciate his men taken care of properly", Hashat answered determinedly.

Seeing that his friend had made up his mind, Lundar nodded, though he spared himself a little sigh.

He sensed they had ahead of them a very hot and sweaty afternoon and evening.

* * *

Aragorn, King Elessar Telcontar of Reunited Kingdoms, fancied himself someone with nerves of steel. During his long life he had faced many dangers, some smaller some larger, and some the kind it was a wonder he still lived today. Such a life had given him strength of character that in most cases allowed him to make quick decisions, and to continue the fight even in most desperate situations.

But when he saw his dear friend's horsetail helmet and the blood-stained royal standard of Rohan, he froze in shock and horror. For the longest time all he could do was to stare at these objects, knowing what it meant... as much as he wanted to believe otherwise, the only logical answer was that somewhere beyond his help, his friend Éomer King of Rohan was either dead or dying.

He only vaguely registered noises around him, not making any connections as to what they meant and to whom the voices even belonged to. He was lost in this one moment that felt long like an Age, and felt despair and grief strike him more poignant than he had ever experienced before.

Yet at last he was able to move, and in a brisk command he ordered the messenger arrested; as soon as the grinning man had been taken captive, Aragorn hurried outside. Interrogations could wait for later, for though the "message" spoke in a clear language, he had to at least try and help his friend. There was speed and urgency about his stride that made guards practically run after him.

Marshal Elfhelm was talking with his captain when Aragorn arrived, and being of keen eye and perception, the man immediately took note of the look on the King's face. His body tensed, like a bow drawn and ready to release an arrow.

"My lord", he called, "is something amiss?"

"I need you to send your fastest riders after Éomer King", Aragorn blurted out. There was no time for courtesies or explanations.

"Of course, but what for?" Elfhelm asked, though it seemed to King Elessar that he already suspected something very bad had happened.

"I believe he has been attacked. I'll explain the details later, but the speediness of your men could very well mean life and death. He needs help _now", _Aragorn said quickly.

Elfhelm asked no more questions. His expression turned stern and intent, and with his captain on his heels he went along to send riders.

As a testimony to the efficiency of the Rohirrim – though Elessar expected nothing less of them, these being the men who had ridden to Minas Tirith in less than a week – a band of riders was ready in less than fifteen minutes. They set for the same road Éomer had taken, and anxiously Aragorn watched them go. Perhaps the so called message did not mean that his friend had fallen? The pirate who had brought him the helmet and the royal standard could have acquired them in some other way... maybe they only wanted him to think that Éomer was dead...

"Now, my lord, could you perhaps tell me what this is about?" asked Elfhelm. He had returned to Aragorn's side and was now looking concerned rather than determined.

The King of Gondor and Arnor hesitated. How do you bring the news like these? He knew Elfhelm greatly loved the Lord of the Mark. They were not only brothers in arms, but also friends, and being of about the same age they had practically grown together.

Aragorn had seen much of respect and reverence among his own men and people ever since he had become the king. But never had he seen anyone love their liege-lord like the Rohirrim loved the Lion of Rohan.

_If he really is dead... then Eorlingas will mourn him a hundred years. _

"Perhaps it would be better if we spoke of this in private."

* * *

The rider arrived after couple of hours had passed since Elfhelm had sent men to look for his king. He was not a Rohirric man, however. When Aragorn saw him, he recognised this newly arrived stranger as a man of Harad. He was dressed in light blue clothing, designed for the sun-heated days of this southern land. The horse he rode was small, very unlike the northern breed Rohirrim raised on their vast green plains.

It happened that Aragorn was presently outside. Prince Amrothos had agreed to a sparring session, because nothing else seemed to be helpful in distracting him from the fear and anxiety that were gnawing at his heart. Though he knew the men sent after Éomer were the fastest riders in the camp and that the young Rohirric king was more than capable of looking after himself, he could not help the growing concern. The pirate who had brought the blood-stained standard and the helmet had not spoken a word since his arrival; Elfhelm's face had been dark when he had told Aragorn that some of his more merciless men were muttering about _making _the messenger speak. At least so far Elfhelm had been able to prevent the word from spreading among the Rohirrim. There was no sense in letting the news spread before it had even been confirmed.

"My lords! You must let me pass, for I have important message for the King Elessar!" called the voice of Haradrim messenger, who was being held back by two guards. The urgency in the voice of the rider piqued Aragorn's interest.

"Guards", he raised his voice, "I would hear what this man has on his mind."

They allowed the messenger to pass, and carefully the man approached Aragorn. On the front of him the stranger looked at him quizzically and asked: "Do I have the honour of speaking to the King of Gondor."

"That is me, yes. What brings you here, friend?" Aragorn inquired, offering a smile to the man. The messenger bowed deep before he started to speak.

"Your Majesty, I bring word from Masters Lundar and Hashat of Harad, two travelling merchants, whom I serve. Please, accept this letter and read it quickly, my lord, for the matter is very important", replied the rider. He reached for the leather satchel he carried by his side and took out a sealed scroll. He offered it towards Aragorn and made yet another bow, and one of the two guards took the message from him. It was then offered to the King of Reunited Kingdoms.

Without wasting time he broke the seal and opened the message.

_To His Majesty, King Elessar of Gondor - _

_It is with great humbleness and respect that we approach you, O King, as we were not certain which authority should be informed of our findings at the mouth of Stone Pass. Great One, we know not much of your northern ways, but we have learned that you are friends with King of Rohan, and thus we took took liberty of addressing directly to you. _

_On this sixth day of the Fifth Month we were on our way towards south with the purpose of finding your great camp and doing business with the men of the north. You see, O King, that we are but simple merchants, and we must make living where we can. _

_On our way we came across a battle-field near the mouth of Stone Pass road. There we found slain many northern riders, who we believe to be the men of your friend, King Éomer of Rohan. These unhappy warriors we have buried in a cairn as is right and proper, for dead bodies do not stand the heat of the southern sun for long. Only one man we found alive, but he is gravely injured and he has yet to regain consciousness. However, at the event of finding him he was murmuring the name of your friend the Rohirric King. We do not know the Lord of the Rohirrim by face, but we hope and believe that the man in our care could be the King himself._

_Our camp is close to the bridge of Harnen, not a day's journey from where we found your friend, and we will remain there waiting for your most royal answer, O Great King, and do whatever we can to save the life of your friend._

_Respectfully,_

_Master Lundar and Master Hashat_

* * *

The riders Elfhelm had sent returned early next morning with news that confirmed what the two merchants had written. Grim-faced and dark, they came from their bitter road, and said they had not found a living man or a horse... but a great cairn of stone they had discovered, surrounded by tall spears that could only be the very weapons carried by the King's Riders. It was indeed as Lundar and Hashat had written: there had been a battle that had most likely claimed the lives of all men who had left with the King. Even as these news turned dark Aragorn's heart, he still had one small hope... that at least perhaps Éomer was alive.

"Did you delve into this cairn?" he asked the riders.

"We did not, Lord. It's not right, disturbing the peace of a grave. Only orcs and beasts do that", said the leader of riders, a fellow named Hafoc.

"Were there any witnesses there? Did you come across anyone who might have seen the battle?" Elfhelm asked, but Hafoc shook his head.

"No, my lord. We searched the immediate area but found nothing, and decided to come back for more orders", he replied. After all, he hadn't known of the injured man Lundar and Hashat had rescued from the ruin, and so they hadn't known to look for him... or find out if he was Éomer or one of his men. Hafoc glanced from his Marshal to Aragorn, "My lords, is it true then? Is Éomer King dead?"

The two exchanged a wary glance.

"We don't know yet. After your departure a word was brought that a caravan of merchants had happened on that scene of battle and found an injured man there. They believe it is our King", Elfhelm said quietly. Hafoc's eyes widened.

"Then riders should be sent there! If the King is alive-" he started heatedly, but Aragorn lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Peace, Rider. That is precisely what we will do. In fact, I intend to go myself and find out if it is King Éomer who is in the care of these merchants", he said solemnly. Then he offered a smile to the rider, though he did not know how he was even able to conjure such an expression at a time like this. "Have hope, Hafoc. He may live yet."

It was a hopeful thought, but there was a good chance it was not true. The very idea of the Lion of Rohan dead filled his heart with dread and grief, for the young king was closest thing to a brother he had ever had. But it went far beyond his own loss and sorrow. What of the peaceful future they had dreamt of together, for both Gondor and Rohan, if Éomer was not there to lead the Rohirrim? The ending of the line of Eorl would not leave the Mark undisturbed.

For the moment, he pushed aside those thoughts, for there was yet a chance that Éomer was alive. After receiving word that the man who had brought the King's helmet and standard was still not speaking, Aragorn sent one of his guards to request for the presence of Prince Amrothos; the King of Reunited Kingdoms was already thinking he'd take along the young prince. No matter what they would find in the camp of the merchants, word would have to be sent to Gondor... not only to Imrahil and Faramir, but also to Princess Lothíriel. If Éomer was injured she'd want to know of it, and she would raise hell if she was kept in shadow while her betrothed lay on a sickbed. The mere thought made Aragorn wince. Sometimes it amazed him that Imrahil could have such a dragon of a woman for a daughter.

Amrothos arrived quickly. The frown on his face revealed he already suspected something was afoot, and he was so anxious that he just barely remembered to bow at his king.

"You wanted to speak with me, my lord?" he asked, but so restless he was that he didn't stop to await for an answer. Instead, he continued right away, "And please tell me what is going on in here! My king, both you and Marshal Elfhelm look like someone has died, and I don't like it at all."

"Prince Amrothos, I..." began Aragorn, but he found himself loss at words. The prince was quick to interpret this as a bad sign.

"So someone _has _died? Is it Lady Éowyn? My cousin-" he said fast, but the older man lifted a hand, and Amrothos fell silent in the middle of the sentence. Gathering his calm, Aragorn quickly explained what was the matter. The look on the face of Imrahil's youngest son turned worried.

"That's very bad", he said in a faint voice, and even though the southern sun had given him a rich tan, he even looked kind of pale. Then he assumed a stark expression, "When do we leave?"

* * *

After what had happened to the escort that had departed with Éomer, Aragorn was not willing to take any chances. The guard he took with him was one hundred strong and heavily armed. Of course, what they won in security they would lose in speed, but if Éomer was dead it would have been madness for Aragorn too get himself killed. The western lands needed their kings.

Moreover, there was also the chance that the message sent by Master Lundar and Master Hashat was but ruse, designed to lure him into same fate as his fellow king. Though Elfhelm's riders had found the cairn and thus confirmed Lundar and Hashat's story at least partly, it didn't mean that the message was altogether true.

The journey was mostly made in grave silence, and as they made camp that night there was no light, friendly chatter to be heard. About half of the men were Aragorn's own men, and the rest were Rohirrim under the command of Captain Feran, a distant relative of Éomer. Though Elessar had done all he could to prevent the word from spreading, it was apparently already known among the company what this journey was about. Thinking of what might happen if Éomer was dead unsettled him not only as the young man's friend, but also as a king: how would the Rohirrim react, to have their king killed in this faraway land, and without an heir to claim the throne?

These dark thoughts were endlessly growing in his mind when Prince Amrothos came to join him by the camp fire, which was fuelled by what withered little bushes they had found here and there. He still bore that same worried look had been on his face ever since hearing the news.

They exchanged no words, not at first. It was obvious how anxious the young prince was, however. He wouldn't stop fingering the hilt of his sword or twisting the hem of his light cloak in his hands.

Eventually Amrothos spoke up. It looked like he did it just because he simply couldn't sit silent.

"Do you think everything will be fine back in the camp?" he asked at last, and Aragorn was even able to conjure something that resembled a smile.

"Of course. Marshal Elfhelm knows how to handle his riders. And Lord Húrin of the Keys is there as well to command my men – they are both good lieutenants and capable of managing everything while we're gone", he said softly. To be honest, he was kind of worried as to what would happen to the pirate messenger while he was gone, as he had witnessed the anger and anxiety of some men rising as the rumour of King Éomer's possible death started to spread. He had left orders to guard the man well, but that might not be enough.

"What do you reckon would happen if Éomer... if he is..." Amrothos tried, but he wasn't able to finish the sentence. His hands became fists and he looked at his liege-lord anxiously.

"I do not know", Aragorn said, shaking his head. "And to be honest, I dare not think of it."

The prince nodded and made a vague sound of agreement. He looked down into flames and looked even more worried now.

"Really, it does terrify me to think that I may have to tell Lothíriel her betrothed is dead", he muttered quietly.

"Let's not abandon our hope yet, Amrothos", said Elessar, and the young man attempted to smile. However, the expression quickly became again a frown. They didn't speak much after that, and eventually Aragorn told Imrahil's son to go and catch some sleep.

But though he knew rest would have served him well too, Aragorn did not seek sleep that night except for couple hours before dawn. Even then, when he briefly visited the land of dreams, all he could see was the royal standard of the Mark, and the stains of blood on it. Once again his mind was drawn towards the unwanted: what if the man he loved like a brother was indeed dead?

At first, he had thought what a loss it would be for Rohan... but he had refused to let it close to his own heart. Now, however, it was starting to dawn to him just what a grief it would be to him. _He can't die, not like this. _

They started for the road at first light. They made haste, as Aragorn was anxious to reach the place where the merchants were camping. Like yesterday, the company travelled in silence. The Rohirric riders scouted ahead but the land was quiet and empty. As the day grew and the sun climbed higher, the heat also became worse... and yet Aragorn barely noticed. His mind was fully concentrated on reaching the camp that awaited ahead... and the man who was waiting there.

It wasn't before afternoon that Captain Feran, the leader of Rohirric riders, lead his horse closer to Aragorn. He was a pleasant-looking man, blond in the manner of his people, and Aragorn had seen him doing some very courageous deeds on the battle-field. Now Feran's eyes were bright but anxious.

"My lord", called the captain, "the scouts say the camp is less than a league away now. We will be arriving soon."

"Good. I was starting to think whether this rocky valley would ever end", said Elessar. He suppressed an urge to gallop wildly towards the merchant camp, as there yet remained the possibility that this was a trap and they had to proceed carefully.

Feran frowned and spoke then in softer tones, "They say they saw the cairn as well."

Aragorn didn't answer right away. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he suppressed a heavy sigh. A thought was growing in his mind and he didn't like it at all. But he knew it had to be said.

"Captain Feran", he spoke quietly, as to not raise anyone else's attention. "I should ask you something you will probably not like very well."

"King, you may ask anything at all", said the Rohir evenly, though a flash of curiosity appeared in his eyes as he glanced at the King of Gondor.

"If it is revealed that the man in the care of those merchants is not your king, we may have to open the cairn. I know it is not respectful towards the deceased, and I would not suggest this in any other situation. However, we have to be sure if he's... if he's gone", Aragorn said softly. "Would your men be opposed to this?"

Feran looked away and considered his words for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was very serious.

"My lord, I can't ask my men to do that. They will not agree to open the grave of King's Riders – especially if our liege-lord lies there as well", he answered reluctantly. "However, you must do as you deem necessary, King. I merely ask that you don't request our help in that task. We can't do it."

"Of course. I wouldn't ask you to do it, Captain... I merely want the blessing of a Rohirric authority, which is you for the moment", Elessar replied. The rider nodded solemnly and they spoke no more. Quietly, Aragorn hoped what he had asked of Feran would not have to be done.

The camp was located close to the bridge of river Harnen, the ancient crossing place which had been built in the days of Númenor. The stonework of Sea Kings had lasted through the long years and was one of the few places where one could cross the river safely. Merchant tents were like a splash of colour and life against the stunted vegetation that drew vitality from Harnen. It was not a large settlement and Captain Feran's scouts had confirmed there was no sight of possible ambush on the hills nearby. Altogether it was starting to look like Master Lundar and Master Hashat were men of their word.

As Aragorn and the escort started to approach the camp the quiet and calm of it made way for sudden excitement, and it wasn't long before a small group came to receive them. With his standard bearer, few guards, Prince Amrothos and Captain Feran, Aragorn rode to meet the merchants. Two of them stepped forward to make deep bows before him.

They appeared to be of about same age, nearing perhaps their sixth decade, but in look the two men were rather different. One was dressed in green, extravagant silks that did not quite flatter his stout build. His hair was midnight black and adorned with golden jewellery, and his olive-toned face was wide and friendly. The other had the build and the posture of a soldier, though he didn't look like he practised warrior's trade actively anymore. His hair was steel grey, simply tied at the nape of his neck, and he looked far more reserved than his friend.

"Do I have the honour of speaking with Master Lundar and Master Hashat?" asked Aragorn as he studied the two men before him. The green-clad man gave him a brilliant smile and bowed again, and his friend rigidly followed the example.

"The honour is all ours, Your Majesty! We are indeed the men who contacted you. I am Lundar, and this quiet fellow here is Hashat, my long time friend and brother-in-law", he replied. "Welcome to our little camp, great King of the Reunited Kingdom!"

At that Aragorn lifted his eyebrows in slight surprise. He hadn't really expected anyone this far south to remember the ancient realm of Arnor.

"I see you know much of our northern ways", he commented. Master Lundar seemed pleased.

"A good merchant makes it his business to know the affairs of the world, if he wants to do well in his trade", he said and let out a light laugh, "And that is why there are two of us, as one man can't possibly remember everything."

If the situation had been any other, Aragorn might have spent some time in the middle of some pleasantries. However, he was too restless to find out the truth about the man these two had rescued.

"How is the man you saved from the battle-field? Is he still..." he asked,not even trying to hide the anxiety in his voice. His question made the merchant's cheerful expression turn more sober.

"He still fights for his life, but he has not awakened. My lord, it is my duty to inform you that we were forced to remove his leg... it was too badly hurt and our healer judged it would have poisoned his blood", Lundar said, looking worried now as though he expected they would be somehow punished for this deed. From the corner of his eye, Aragorn saw Amrothos twitch. Perhaps for a horseman losing a leg was not as bad, but it was still an ill thing for anyone who made war and fighting their trade. For a man as energetic as Éomer it would take a long time to come in terms with.

"It is all right. I am thankful for your help", Aragorn said, which appeared to relieve the merchant. "I would like to see him."

"Of course. Please, follow me!" said Master Lundar. He bowed one more time and then, as soon as Aragorn and Amrothos had dismounted, they started for the camp. As they walked and passed by tents and members of the caravan, Aragorn's heart picked up speed; he'd have liked nothing more than just pushing past the merchant and running to find the tent where the injured man lay... and find out if his friend was alive. However, he forced himself to remain calm and adjust his pace to that of the merchants who walked before him and the Prince.

The tent was near the centre of the small camp, and reaching it Master Hashat quietly lifted up the veil that served as a doorway. He nodded at Aragorn, and the King of Gondor and Arnor stepped in. All the while his heart continued its mad race; hope gave it wings and still it was heavy with dread of _what ifs. _

He stepped in and in the dim of the tent he saw a healer hovering over a figure on the ground. He lay uncovered and it was as Lundar had said: they had amputated his leg. Around the stump of his knee there was heavy layer of linen. Aragorn resisted the feeling of defeat, though. _He will ride yet. _

The healer turned and bowed his head at the newly arrived king and prince... but Aragorn did not notice. His eyes were on the face of the man who lay before him, unconscious but still alive.

And even through his despair and grief, Aragorn knew that if he'd recover, Captain Éothain would never forgive himself living after failing to save the life of his friend and King.

* * *

The cairn stood on a hilltop, not far from the place where the battle had taken place. As far as Aragorn could see, it had taken some effort to get the bodies of the dead up there. Master Lundar had said his friend Hashat had insisted it.

"It is a good place for the long sleep of death. They can feel the wind, the sun. You can see the river too. It is a restful bed for brave men", Hashat had muttered when he had lead Aragorn and Amrothos there. Then without a further word he had bowed and returned to the camp. Evidently he was a man of keen sight, as he had understood the two men from Gondor wished to do this alone.

Now the King of Gondor and Arnor stood there with the Prince of Dol Amroth. Some men remained down in the valley, but their task was just to keep guard. What he was about to do was not something Aragorn wished to ask help for, and he hadn't even meant to bring Amrothos, but the young prince had insisted.

"You don't need to do this alone, my lord", he had said gravely. "Besides, he was my friend too."

The cairn was large – enough for the nineteen men who lay under it. Around it the merchants had raised their tall spears to stand there until weathers and time consumed them. All this felt wrong: these men had earned a peaceful grave, and what they were about to do was something only horrid beasts like orcs did.

_We have to be sure. We have to..._

Aragorn glanced at Amrothos, who stood by his side. The young man seemed pale but his face was set, and he knew trying to talk Imrahil's son out of this would only be a waste of time for them both.

He sighed and pushed aside his regret and grief. If they meant to do this they should start now, when they still had daylight left.

"Let us begin", he said softly, and without exchanging any more words the two men wrapped cloths around their mouths, and started their dark task. Slowly in silence they moved the heavy rocks of the cairn, and with each lifted stone Aragorn felt the weight on his heart grow more difficult to bear. He breathed deep when he uncovered the face of a dead man, whom he recognised; his name had been Hæthcyn. He had no family other than the Guard, but he had always been cheerful, and Aragorn remembered the sound of his laughter. In death Hæthcyn did not laugh. Instead, a grimace was frozen on his face.

The stench of death and decomposing bodies filled the air as Aragorn continued lifting the rocks; the cloth on his mouth and nose could not completely block the horrid smell. More corpses were uncovered and even then, seeing all these brave and good men so slain far away from their homes, he only felt numb.

"Aragorn."

Amrothos' voice distracted him and he looked up to where the prince was. Poor young man looked profoundly disturbed and Aragorn regretted letting his friend's son accompany him... most like this morbid deed would leave Amrothos with great many nightmares. For now he put aside that thought and stumbled over to where the younger man stood.

The prince said no more. Instead, he gestured towards what he had found, and at the sight of his discovery Aragorn felt the final, terrifying certitude that hope had failed. He recognised the red-brown chest-plate right away: it's distinctive look was not something one forgot.

It was proof enough, even with the head missing. What those monsters had done with it he couldn't tell, and he wasn't so sure if he wanted to know.

_It is true, then. He is gone. _

The two men stood quiet for a long moment. The King of Gondor and Arnor might have uttered that they should cover again these unhappy men and let them have their rest, but he wasn't certain if he did. In silence, they rebuilt the cairn. When it was done and the rocks were again on their places, he staggered away from it until at last his feet gave in under him, and he fell to sit on the ground. Amrothos remained by the tomb, head bowed and shoulders shaking as a testimony to his sorrow.

As Aragorn sat there watching the Sun make her descent towards west, he finally became aware of the tears that were running down his face, and he grieved for Éomer King of Rohan his brother, whom he had lost.

* * *

**A/N: **And we continue on a heavy note. Do I now get flogged?

No Lothíriel or Éomer in this chapter, as I decided things needed to happen neither of them could witness. It seemed to me that the best way was to follow Aragorn through this chapter and regard the story from his point of view. I suppose he's now really regretting that he didn't leave with Éomer in the last chapter... I promise we'll get to Lothíriel in the next chapter.

I know it very much seems now that Éomer is indeed dead, and how his armour is in that cairn is not a mistake on my part. This will be discussed as the story progresses. As for how Éothain is alive shouldn't in my opinion be too unclear: he indeed took an arrow but it wasn't enough to kill him right away. I can say I do have my reason for sparing his life so far.

I'm not sure when I'll be able to post the next chapter. I do have it in the works already, but with the holidays approaching I don't think I'll be able to write much. I was thinking of writing something small and perhaps lighter - it _is _Christmas time, after all. In case I'm not able to upload anything before Christmas, I hope you all have happy holidays!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

Quote in the beginning originally by William Shakespeare in "Antony and Cleopatra".

* * *

**solar1 - **It was kind of difficult to write as well, as was this chapter. Well, I did mark this as an angst story, so I suppose it's high time I revealed why... fortunately there's a bit of life in Éothain yet!

**Morgoth** – Well, I'm sad that you've decided to judge the rest of the story without even reading it – and I'd have loved to hear why you thought last chapter was contrived. As I've stated before, it's very frustrating from the writer's point of view when the reader doesn't elaborate, because that way I don't get to improve my skills.

I must say I shuddered at the mention of "girlpower". Not only is that a completely belittling conception, it's also misogynistic. Also, what greatly troubles and saddens me about this attitude in general is that somehow extraordinary deeds and determination are allowed and praised in male characters like Aragorn, but when female character is portrayed as similarly active and brave, it is somehow unbelievable.

**Talia119 - **All I can really say: it must get worse before it can get better...

In-story reason for Aragorn not accompanying Éomer would of course be that they can't be in the same place at that time. That would very much ruin my plans for the story. He is indeed a great healer, but he trusts the healers in Houses of Healing, and so didn't think his presence was necessary.

**Wondereye - **Wait and see! :)


	15. Chapter 14

When you begin a journey of revenge, start by digging two graves: one for your enemy, and one for yourself. - Eldacar, King of Gondor

* * *

**Chapter 14**

_May 3021, Pelargir_

The busy atmosphere of the markets was something Lothíriel enjoyed. She liked watching people as they ran their errands, bickering and bargaining with each other and the craftsmen. As the port was nearby the markets also had rather colourful variety of merchants: Dwarf smiths and Dalemen from the north, Rohirrim with their wool and leather, Southrons selling spices and silks, and even people from beyond the deserts of Harad. Visiting this multicultural, noisy and slightly chaotic mixture of goods and smells and people was a nice way to spend time, especially when Éowyn came along.

Lothíriel had arrived to the city only couple days before, and would stay there waiting for the host of Gondor and Rohan as they returned from the southern campaign. Father and Faramir had come from Minas Tirith too, and Éowyn from Emyn Arnen. They all stayed in the house that belonged to Aunt Ivriniel; usually the spacious but slightly deteriorated residence only had a staff of only two people, but servants from Dol Amroth had followed to make it fit for a visit of two kings. Indeed, Éomer and Aragorn would stay there for a few days, and then head towards Minas Tirith. It was the last time Lothíriel would meet her betrothed before the bridal escort would set for Rohan.

As for Éowyn, she had come to welcome her brother and accompany him first to Minas Tirith and then to Edoras. When Lothíriel had asked if Faramir and her new people in Ithilien would miss her, Éowyn had given her a gentle smile.

"Oh, no doubt they will. But I want to do this for my brother. It is a very important day that is waiting for him, and it means a lot to me as well. I'd like to be there to help with the final preparations", she had said.

Since the courtship between Lothíriel and Éomer, a friendship had started to grow between the Princess and the King's sister. At that time Éowyn had been betrothed to Faramir, and though she loved him very much Lothíriel had soon learned that her cousin's intended also had much uncertainty. For one, Éowyn feared how she'd fit in the Gondorian society. Moreover, there had still been many things she wanted to learn of her future husband. As a result she had eventually come to Lothíriel, who was cousin to Faramir. Though personally she had no manners it didn't mean she was completely unaware of the world of Gondorian nobility, and she had gladly shared her knowledge with Éowyn. In the process they had become friends, and eventually the roles of teacher and pupil were reversed. Now it was the White Lady teaching her future sister-in-law the ways of the Rohirrim, their language, and what would be expected of her as a queen.

Now the two friends were strolling through the streets of Pelargir, enjoying the beautiful day and watching the people come and go. Since Aragorn had claimed the throne this city, so ravaged by pirates in the past, had started to flourish again. Merchants came from afar again and people had returned their old homes, and the King of Reunited Realms had many plans for improving the haven.

"I must say", said Éowyn as they walked, "When I started here from Emyn Arnen, I was expecting to find you a lot more anxious what with the wedding getting closer."

The princess chuckled.

"There's still plenty of time for maddening behaviour that will drive everyone out of their minds. For the moment, I'm just enjoying the knowledge that your brother will be here soon. After you two leave the city and I return to Dol Amroth for the last time as a maiden, I intend to run completely amok", she said lightly. That made Éowyn laugh, and the older woman patted her arm. For a while, they continued their stroll in companionable silence. From one stand, she bought them some sugary almonds, and then for the curiosity the two stopped by a Dalish merchant's booth. He was selling some jewellery and small daggers from the north. Some of his goods were obviously Dwarven origin of Erebor, and Lothíriel briefly recalled talking with Éomer if they could some time visit that northern land; after all, the men of Dale were distant relatives of the Rohirrim, and legends had it Eorl the Young and Lords of Dale were descended from same family tree.

"It does feel strange", she said after a while, when they had turned to return to Aunt's house, "how things are about to change, that is. It's never going to be the same again, is it?"

"Marriage tends to do that", Éowyn replied with a slight smile. "For the most parts, personally I like it."

"Do you ever miss Rohan?" asked Lothíriel.

"Sometimes. But more than that, I miss the people there. Uncle, my brother, our cousin... only Éomer remains now. And I do admit I was worried about him – especially how he'd handle being the king. Now I know he'll do fine. He'll be all right", said her friend. She glanced at the princess, "You'll be too, because if there is anyone more stubborn than Éomer in this world, it is you."

Lothíriel couldn't but laugh at that.

"I hope that's a compliment", she said. Then she took note of the thoughtful look on the face of Éowyn, and she asked: "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

The White Lady did not answer right away. When she spoke, it was slowly and softly.

"I did have my doubts in the beginning. Truth is, I wondered if you would make a very good queen for Rohan. My brother was... back then, he was very new to being the king. He never expected to inherit the throne, and with all that madness of war still raging I don't suppose he had much time to think things through or to prepare for taking our uncle's place", Éowyn spoke softly. A frown touched her face, "What I'm trying to say is that when he saw you, he wasn't thinking like a king. He was thinking like the man he was before Théodred died. And Marshals don't usually have to think whether their wives would make good queens... I wondered if a wild thing like yourself was really a good choice for a royal consort."

"And what are your thoughts now?" Lothíriel asked carefully. It was an odd thing to realise that if Éowyn – or anyone – had told her this only a year ago, she might have been very offended by it. She'd have felt very insecure as well. Now, however, she saw the reason behind the words.

"To be honest? We still have some work to do, but I think you'll be fine once you get the hang of it. And anyway... you know that life has not been happy or kind to our House. Had you seen us on those last years before the war, you would have found us both different than we are now. We were both angry and miserable and losing hope, my brother and I. Since then, I've seen him acquire peace of mind. No doubt the war ending is partly the reason, but it's because of you as well, Lothíriel", Éowyn answered slowly. She smiled then, "And if you ask me, that is more important than whether you are the ideal queen and the perfect noblewoman. Rohan now has a strong king who is happy."

Her smile became slightly uneasy, "Hopefully I have not offended you by speaking so bluntly."

"Oh, you haven't. I'm used to blunt talk and if I couldn't take it, I'd never have agreed to marry your brother. I suppose you're right to have worried. The girl I was when I met him... I wouldn't have made a very good queen", Lothíriel said and shook her head. "Father was actually being pretty smart when he insisted on a long engagement."

Éowyn smiled and linked her arm with that of the princess.

"He's a wise man", she said, and they walked forward in silence.

Aunt Ivriniel's house was located in the part of the town where most of the high-born inhabitants of the city had lived in the more prosperous days. The buildings there still boasted splendour, though more or less deteriorated. The return of the king had brought new life into the city and some houses were already being restored to their former glory.

The house where they lodged had not come to Aunt by her own family, but by her husband. Lord Calemir had been a son of an old but diminished line, and he had died within five years after the marriage. He had not left his grieving wife with children – only a crumbling house in Pelargir, and what little wealth there remained. Aunt Ivriniel had never remarried and she rarely came to the place where she had been so happy with a man she had buried over twenty years ago. Now the old house was maintained by only a staff of two: the elderly cook and his widowed daughter. Lothíriel had wondered if they would have liked to move on from the large, quiet house, but the pair seemed somehow attached to it. She suspected they had grown into being a part of it, to the point where it didn't even occur to the two of them that they could leave if they wanted.

One of Father's guards let them in through a gate into the small courtyard before the house. There was a fountain in the middle of it and outbuildings on each side; the fountain had not been in the use for a very long time and weeds grew on the bottom of it. Idle thoughts of trying to persuade Éowyn to join her for a sparring session were running through her mind when another guard hurriedly strode from the house.

"My lady Princess, your father requests your presence immediately", said the guard after bowing at the two women. He glanced at the Rohir woman as well, "Lady Éowyn, he asked for you as well."

They exchanged a confused glance. From Éowyn's face the princess could see that her friend had also sensed something was afoot. An unpleasant feeling twisted and turned in Lothíriel's stomach, but she pushed aside the sense of foreboding.

Nevertheless, they wasted no time as they made way to the parlour, where the guard said Father was waiting for them. It was a spacious room, mostly furnished by pieces that had been ancient fifty years ago. The large windows let in much light however and the stained glass painted the air golden. But the guard's anxiety had awakened Lothíriel's uneasiness as well and she paid no attention to the way afternoon sun glittered.

Father was sat on the couch, his shoulders slumping and his entire posture as though crushed under some heavy weight. His face was hidden in his hands and everything about him breathed deep grief. Faramir was there too, and the expression on his bloodless face was a mixture of horrified shock and unhappiness.

"What is it, Father? Faramir? Has something happened in Minas Tirith?" Lothíriel asked cautiously, but even as she spoke those words her eyes fell on her brother Amrothos, who was in the room as well. Wind-blown and travel-worn, he looked like he had only just arrived, which must be true, as the last she had heard he had been away hunting pirates. Though the southern sun had given him a glowing tan, now it seemed he lost some of his colour. And his expression... he looked grave, and that her cheerful brother would appear so meant something was terribly wrong. She asked, "Amrothos? Why are you here?"

Father lifted up his face and she could see that in his eyes, there were tears. He and Amrothos exchanged a look that spoke in volumes, and then her brother turned towards her and Éowyn.

"Lothíriel, I... you and Lady Éowyn should both sit down. I bring some very bad news."

* * *

"_I will not believe it!"_

The shriek echoed through the halls of the house, making the windows tinkle in their frames and startling more than just one guard enough to make them jump and look around in alarm. Then there was the sound of someone throwing open doors as they walked – or stormed – through the halls. Servants and guards alike leaped from way: Princess Lothíriel was in the middle of one of those moods, and she looked like she was out for blood.

"Lothíriel!" called Amrothos as he hurried after his sister. He had known she'd not receive the news well, but this violent outburst was even beyond what he had expected.

"I don't care what you say! I won't believe it! I won't!" she exclaimed again, though now there was a slightly hysterical note in her voice. When she flashed a glare at him over her shoulder, her eyes were blazing very bright.

"Please, sister, you have to calm down", Amrothos tried and attempted to catch her by arm, but she flinched away.

"No! I won't calm down before I've seen him and made sure this all is just some horrible mistake!" she snapped and turned to proceed again, and he knew unless she was stopped, Lothíriel would go and saddle a horse, and she'd ride all the way down to Harad.

"Sister, I saw the body", Amrothos tried, but that only fuelled her fury. She looked a bit like she might have punched him, but then came the voice of their father.

"Lothíriel", he called. He had followed them too, but Amrothos saw no sight of Lady Éowyn. He guessed Faramir was currently trying to bring her what little comfort there could be at the face of a loss like this.

"Don't 'Lothíriel' me, Father!" she shrieked furiously. But then he pushed past his youngest son and took a hold of her shoulders and pulled her close.

"I'm sorry, daughter. I'm so sorry", he murmured.

"He's not dead! He can't be!" she yelled and struggled against her father but his hold was firm; her yells turned into sobs and then howls, and her resistance grumbled. She cried, the way Amrothos had never seen her cry. And seeing such raw, tremendous grief he wondered if it could ever be soothed.

Éowyn's eyes were bloodshot and pain was written on her features when she came with Faramir to ask Amrothos for details of what precisely had happened in south. Upon his arrival, he had only been able to tell the basics... and once he had announced that Éomer was dead it had not looked like his sister and betrothed could really receive anything more. But now the White Lady had calmed down enough to listen to the full story. Father was still with Lothíriel. She wasn't shrieking anymore but Amrothos didn't dare to take that as a good sign.

"I would like to hear precisely what happened and why my brother is dead", said Éowyn steadily, though the look in her eyes proved how difficult it was for her to speak those words. So they sat down in the parlour, and quietly Amrothos explained what had taken place: the arrival of the false news, the departure of King of Rohan, and then the chilling message in the form of blood-stained standard and horse-tail helmet... Amrothos described how he and Aragorn had then travelled to the merchant camp and found Éothain there.

"So the captain is alive? What does he say? Surely he has some information on Éomer?" Éowyn asked anxiously, but Amrothos shook his head. Somehow, all this made him feel like it was _his _fault – like he had dealt the strike that had killed the man his sister would have married.

"If he does, he's in no condition to tell of it. Most of the time, he was in and out of it when I was in the camp. Even when he regained some consciousness it didn't seem like he knew where he was... he seems to think Éomer is with him. Aragorn was trying to get Éothain snap out of it, but if he has had any luck with that, no word has reached me", Amrothos said, shaking his head.

"He could be alive, then? Perhaps Éomer survived?" Faramir asked hopefully, glancing from Amrothos to Éowyn, whose hand he had been holding all along.

"I'm sorry, but... there was a body. I saw it – there was no mistaking his armour. He's dead", said the princes softly. Faramir and Éowyn both bowed their heads and the faint shaking of her shoulders betrayed the tears she was trying to fight back.

"It's not right", she mumbled under her breath. "And it's not fair. He deserved life!"

"I know", Amrothos said heavily and sighed. There was a burning behind his eyes now and the weight on his heart had not grown any lighter. Even now, after he had opened the tomb of the King and his Riders with Aragorn, _this _was the worst thing. Having to deliver the news and seeing the sorrow of those who loved Éomer was just as difficult as it had been on that moment when he had uncovered the dead body in the cairn.

"What of Rohirrim who rode with him to south? Do they know what has happened?" Faramir asked after a long, heavy silence.

"A word was sent to the camp when I left for the road, and I'm sure the message has already reached them. I dare not imagine what might be their reaction", Amrothos said, cringing at the idea of what would happen now. "Elfhelm is in charge there and he should be ready to expect the worst... Aragorn thought he'd be able to contain the explosion, and I hope he was right about that."

"And the body of my brother? Did Aragorn plan on bringing him home?" Éowyn asked then. Her voice was weak and speaking was obviously a struggle to her.

"I don't know. We didn't decide yet what to do, and Aragorn was hesitant... he'd like to bring Éomer back to Rohan – back home to have his long sleep among those who came before him. But Captain Feran, who rode with us to seek that merchant camp, was very reluctant. So were his men", said the prince.

"Why is that? Why wouldn't they want to bring their king home?" Faramir wondered out loud.

"A caravan of merchants came across the battle-field. They didn't just save Éothain from the ruin of it – they also gathered the bodies of the fallen and built a great cairn for the tomb. Éomer rests there too with his men. Captain Feran said he and his men will not disturb the peace of the dead, not even to recover the King's body", Amrothos explained. He trembled as he remembered the task of opening the grave, seeing the faces of the dead, and finding Éomer there too... since then, he had not enjoyed a restful night.

"We Rohirrim feel strongly about our dead. It's not decent to move him now", Éowyn said quietly, staring at her hands. She looked a bit like she might start crying again any time now. "Once the tomb is finished, we don't open it – never. And my brother... I think he'd like to share the grave with the men he fell with, even if it's far from home."

"But would bringing him home give everyone a sense of closure? He was a king, after all", offered her husband.

"That he was, but you won't find a man or woman of Rohan who would agree to transporting him from south. It's not the same as it was with uncle. He has already been laid to rest, and that is final. Perhaps a mound of Simbelmyne will be raised for my brother... but it will be empty", said Éowyn, her voice becoming more strained the longer she spoke. She bowed her head and let out a wavering sigh. Faramir wrapped his arms about her and looked concerned.

"What happens now?" Amrothos asked as the silence was starting to grow longer and heavier. Really, it was actually a scary thing to consider how Éomer's death would affect not only Rohan, but also Gondor. What little time he had spent as the King of the Mark had been a prosperous time and full of promise, but his work was far from finished, and if he was gone... well, he had a feeling his sister and Éowyn were not the only people who would take this very heavily.

Éowyn and Faramir exchanged a look before either of them spoke. Turning away, she frowned.

"I will probably have to go home. I'm of the House of Eorl too. And I think uncle would want it, if he... if he was still here", she murmured. Only then did Amrothos understand how much she still grieved the man who had been like a father to her.

That she should go home and do what she could made sense, but the young prince dared not to ask what this would mean for herself and Faramir. After all, as the Steward and the Prince of Ithilien he was needed in Gondor.

"I do not think we should make any rash moves just yet. We should wait for Aragorn to return and see how the Rohirrim receive the news. Perhaps they will demand for Éowyn to come back to Rohan, but that is a concern for later and we will deal with it then. For now..." Faramir spoke, until he fell silent and hesitated. Then he spoke again, "For now we should grieve."

* * *

The coat had belonged to Éomer. He had forgotten it behind during one of his visits to Dol Amroth, and Lothíriel had claimed it for herself. Originally she had meant to return it to him, but then she had started to wear it when she was alone in her chambers. Of course it was too large for her, and she had to roll the sleeves in order to be able to use her hands, but it didn't matter. It was his and was closest thing to being near him when he was gone, so she had kept it.

Now she was huddling under it, pulling it tighter around herself, and trying to resist the horror and grief and anger that all boiled together inside her. Father had gone already, but that was mostly because she had pretended to sleep. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his attempts to comfort her, but she just couldn't bear the looks he kept giving her. It made her feel so pitiful and hopeless.

Amrothos entered the room quietly. Only now did she take note of how tired and worn he looked like, and she knew he must have raced all the way from the south just to deliver the news. The thought of that made her tremble and she had to close her eyes just to hold back the agony.

_No. I won't believe it. _

Her brother came to sit by her. Gently, he lay a hand on her shoulder; a quick glance toward him confirmed he had noticed what she was wearing and knew what it was, but Lothíriel was grateful to see there was no pity in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, sister", he said softly.

"It's all right, brother. I don't think he's dead", she replied, trying to sound calm and collected. That made him frown and he sighed.

"I told you I saw the body. There wasn't... they had taken the head, but I saw the armour. It was him, Lothíriel. He's gone", he said in a low voice, watching her warily as though expecting her to react badly to those words. And it did make her feel profoundly sick. Lothíriel had to close her eyes and take a several deep breaths before she could speak again. When she did, her voice was calm and steady, her words final.

"I refuse to let him go."

"Sister, it's just going to get harder if you keep denying it", Amrothos tried. He sounded like he was trying for a delicate tone, but this was not something you could be sensitive about.

"Do you think I care how hard it's going to get?" Lothíriel asked, flashing a furious glance at him. "When it comes to him, I... Amrothos, I will keep denying it to the day I see the body with my own eyes. Until that moment he's not dead to me. Never."

He looked frustrated as he pulled back to regard her.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn, Lothíriel?" he asked and anxiously threw his arms in the air. But then he must have seen something on her face, as his expression turned alarmed. He looked like he'd have said something, but she was faster.

"Because that's all I have right now", she said softly. He spoke no more, but rather wrapped his arms about her and gave her a tight hug.

"It's going to be all right. I promise", Amrothos murmured into her hair, though she didn't see how he meant that could be. Lothíriel said no word but nodded anyway.

He patted her shoulder.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" he asked, but she shook her head.

"I'm fine. I'm not going to fall apart now", she replied. _That is only if he _is _gone. _

"Father has sent for Aredhel. She'll be here in a few days. Just... try and get some rest. It's very late", he told her half-heartedly. If the situation had been any other, she'd have told her brother that he was the one who needed rest. But now was not a time for light talk. So she mumbled something affirmative and watched her brother go – he seemed to understand she didn't need company right now.

She sat there, long after Amothos had gone and the candle on the table grew small, until the lingering little flame died out. Night had come and it felt like all of Dol Amroth had fallen into dark brooding. The would-be queen sat quiet and alone, huddling under the coat of the man she had meant to marry.

"There was no head", Lothíriel whispered to herself, wrapping the coat tighter around her shoulders. _"There was no head." _

* * *

The sunrise was always a vision on the deserts. Since he had been very young Sapat had always – well, whenever he could – risen up so that he could watch the rising of new day. He'd marvel the way skies lit up and coloured the world.

Down in the camp, which was located in a small valley below, the moans of the wounded had mostly fallen silent during the night. The losses had been even beyond what he had expected, as he hadn't thought they would receive such furious opposition from the horselords. However, each and every one of them had given hell to their attackers. Sapat forced aside the thought of the price they had paid for his revenge, and instead thought of victory. After all, he _had _got what he had wanted.

As the sun began to ascend, he heard steps from behind, and a quick glance confirmed what he had already expected. Krual, his friend and a chieftain of another tribe, was approaching him. Quietly his friend came, until he halted beside Sapat, and let out a heavy sigh.

Krual looked like a man who had aged for the worth of an entire decade during the course of one night. It didn't seem like he had slept, which did not come as a surprise to Sapat. He had seen Krual sitting beside one of the wounded, and that he was here now could only mean one thing.

"My men and I are leaving as soon as we are able to make ready the wounded", he announced in a low voice. He still did not look at Sapat.

"So soon? You know you're welcome to stay here as long as you like", said the other man and hid his frown.

Krual did not answer right away. Instead, he watched the sunrise in silence. The lines of his face seemed to become deeper in the light of a new day. Standing unmoving and with his hand on the handle of his scimitar, he looked like some statue of old.

When he spoke at last, his voice was loud and harsh.

"What was it for, Sapat?" he asked.

"You know what it was. Vengeance, nothing more. I thought you wanted it as well", Sapat pointed out. Now Krual's eyes flashed at him.

"I did not want slaughter, Sapat! And what does this vengeance of yours mean, now that some of our best warriors are dead? One man's life in exchange of so many does not seem like a fair trade! And what is it for? That you can put some revenge on him? Will it bring back those who are now dead? I saw him, Sapat. I saw his eyes. He's going to be your end", Krual said angrily. His hands had become fists, but the other man knew his blood-brother would not hit him, no matter how desperately he wanted.

"You're wrong, Krual. I'm going to end him first", said Sapat and shook his head. Krual shook with hardly stifled rage, until he went still again. When he spoke, he sounded tired.

"It was supposed to be dozen men at best. What did we get in the end? My sister-son is dead, Sapat! Who do you think will have to tell his mother?"Krual asked. At those words, Sapat flinched. He remembered his friend's nephew – a promising young man, who might have risen to inherit the place of the chieftain after Krual.

"I am sorry. Truly, I am", he muttered listlessly.

"Maybe you are. But it's not enough", Krual sighed. His shoulders were hanging low now, and what anger he had felt had grown cold and bitter.

"I did not force you to join me", Sapat said quietly. The face of his old friend shifted just barely.

"No, you didn't. I alone bear the blame for listening to you and your mad plan. And I feel it will be the ruin of you, Sapat", said the other chieftain. Then, as a sign of goodbye, he touched fingers to his forehead, and he turned to climb down the hill they were standing on. Sapat did not watch him go, but instead turned to look at the sun, which was now climbing higher. Down below the camp was already waking up.

One moment more he stood there, but at last Sapat made for downhill and returned the settlement of tents. Women were starting their morning chores but the atmosphere was not the lightest and he did not miss the way they were avoiding the small tent, the one made of ragged old fabric. It wasn't much of a cage for a man some called lion, but it would have to do for now.

His thoughts were then disrupted, for his sister Fanara had appeared to his side. She was few years older than him and she had been a wife to a great chieftain. But like so many she too had lost her husband to the fields of Pelennor in north, and she had returned to her own tribe along with her daughter. He didn't understand how and why that was but she had none of the anger that had driven him to take this road of revenge. Fanara had been a great beauty in her time and one could still see it on her face, and moonlight had not touched her thick braid. She did not know it, but their father had wished she had been born a boy... and even then he had considered making _her _the chieftain.

However, the man had not lived long enough to announce it, or to tell her of his decision. Sometimes, Sapat felt their people would have followed her if they had known. Now they certainly would have, as many a man lay dead because of the man he had thirsted to capture.

"Motsham is dead", she informed him. Her voice betrayed no emotion and he wasn't too surprised to hear this news. Late last night, when they had arrived in camp, the horselord had briefly broken free. Motsham had been one of the men assigned to make sure the prisoner did not cause any trouble – perhaps it was only fair that the young man had paid for not watching the northman closely enough.

"It was to be expected", muttered the chieftain, recalling the wounds Motsham had received. His voice sounded more nonchalant than he actually was. His sister made a gruff noise at the back of her throat and Sapat could practically feel her glare on him. He knew she had liked Motsham – she had been friends with his mother.

"Krual is right, Sapat", said Fanara in a quiet voice that disturbingly reminded him of their father. He wasn't terribly surprised to hear that she knew what the two men had talked about.

"You think so, sister? Were you the one who talked him into thinking so?" asked the chieftain. He shot a sharp glance at her, but as always her expression was inscrutable.

"He doesn't need me to tell him anything", Fanara said calmly. Now he answered Sapat's look. In her eyes there was steel and fire. "But you obviously do. How many times did I say it's not a good idea?"

"You may say it a thousand times and have no effect whatsoever. You washed your hands off this vengeance and so none of this is your business, Fanara", he said patiently.

"Oh, it actually is! If you're going to get half of our tribe killed for the sake of some idiotic vengeance, then it's very much my business! How many more men will have to die to satisfy for your bloodlust? Sapat, do you have any idea of what will happen if the northmen ever learn the truth? If they find out not only it wasn't pirates who attacked but also that the horseking is alive, they're going to storm the south and they will flood these deserts with the blood of Harad!" she hissed, and only her voice revealed her anger.

"I've already told you it has been taken care of. No one knows the man is alive, and so no one will ever come looking for him. And the sands of this land have devoured armies and hidden nameless secrets before. I see no reason why that should not happen again", he said coldly, starting for the small tent that was located at the edge of the camp, separated from the others.

"Don't underestimate the horselord. That man has murder in his eyes", Fanara said. Her voice had fallen quiet by the end of the sentence, and she turned away. Sapat paid no heed to her ominous words but walked faster towards the edge of the camp. The guards at the doorway silently made way for him and he entered.

It was dim in the tent as they had not given any source of light for the prisoner. And why would he need it, anyway? They had tied him to the pole in the middle of it, hands behind his back. He had kicked so violently when they had brought him here that the guards had also tied his feet. They had stripped off his armour too, and now some dead Rohirric bugger wore it. Sapat had ordered to behead the man, but a body wearing this king's gear should silence all questions about whether he still lived. The chieftain stepped quietly but the northman still heard him coming. The golden-haired head shot up and dark eyes fixed on Sapat. Fanara had been right: there was murder in that gaze.

It meant nothing, though. He was in ropes and they had beaten him pretty badly. He was not a threat, not now.

"The man you stabbed last night is dead", said Sapat in cold, strong voice. He met the horselord's eyes calmly. "But make no mistake. He was the last man you shall ever lay waste on."

The northman said nothing. He sat quiet, staring unblinkingly at his captor.

"You're tough now, but you'll see. There are many ways of breaking a man. I prefer the subtler kind, now that you're at my mercy. I know your kind and the fact that acts of violence rarely work on you. Personally, I find that shackles are the best treatment for a wild beast", Sapat continued. He even smiled, "So fear not for your life – not yet. Perhaps I shall eventually kill you."

The King of horselords smiled. Though his face was bloody and battered and he was so utterly beaten that one could not imagine him rising up from this deep, he _smiled. _

"You should kill me when you still can. For if you spare my life now, I promise I won't do the same for you when the day comes. You can torment me all you want, make a slave of me, whatever you will... but I swear you will never break me. And one day, I'll cast down my chains and _I will kill you."_

* * *

**A/N: **And I'm back! The holidays have flown by like on wings and I haven't been able to write that much, but here's an update at last. Hope you like it, my dear readers!

So, the news are now delivered to Éowyn and Lothíriel and the situation progresses. I don't really think Lothíriel would agree to believe it, not unless she saw the body with her own eyes. As I've kept saying, stubborn people are stubborn in bad and good. Though she refuses to buy the news I don't think she's so sure yet of what she should do, but perhaps she'll come up with something in the next chapter at least.

I know the pace is kind of slow now, but I need to establish some things first, and building relationship between Lothíriel and Éowyn and them receiving the news is (I think) important - though I must say I'm now thinking I should have established their friendship in the first part already. Oh well, you can't always remember everything!

It's pretty weird to realise that it's almost a year now that I posted the first chapter of _Heart's Desire. _Even weirder is that since then, I've written three full length stories (four, if you include _Náhwaer) _and I'm still brimming with ideas! In fact, I feel like I have a story for a _House of Sun _sequel and another Éomer/Lothíriel story with an AU spin. I am starting to think I need professional help. Anyway the year has gone by madly fast. Let's hope the next one will be great one as well!

As usual, thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

Quote in the beginning originally by Jodi Picoult.

Inspiration for the chapter: Muse - Map Of The Problematique

* * *

**annafan - **I'm glad to hear you think so! It wasn't the easiest thing to write, though. Still, I think Aragorn would be very disturbed by the news of Éomer's death, and it's good to know that I've managed to convey that.

**solar1 - **Yep, she's pretty much the last now. We'll see how it goes for her!

**wondereye - **Umm, what do you mean? What spoiler?

**Talia119 - **I fear Éothain is still pretty much out of it for the moment. He must have hit his head to pretty bad. I guess this is indeed very dramatic when compared to the first part of the story, which was all fun and games. And it seems Éomer isn't doing that fine for the moment! I hate myself a little for doing this to him.


	16. Chapter 15

Hope begins in the dark. - Queen Melannen, consort of King Turambar of Gondor

* * *

**Chapter 15**

_May 3021, the deserts of Harad_

Fanara had known all along it would not be a good idea.

Personally she held the notion that anyone of sane mind would think so: catching a man famed for his deeds in war, especially when he was nothing less than king of a people known for their fell nature, could only end very badly. However, it was rather obvious her brother was so blinded by his revenge that danger did not mean anything to him now. And so there was a tied, beaten up, lethal horselord imprisoned in their camp, and he was _furious; _Fanara feared one night he'd murder them all in their sleep.

Sapat knew her well enough to not tell her what he planned, and she had suspected nothing until before the war party had left. He had been completely indifferent when she had approached him and told him that this was a terrible mistake. And when they had returned, she had felt like her ill feeling of foreboding was becoming true.

It was madness, she knew that right away... but the true extent only began to slowly unfold when one of the guards came to ask for her help on the morrow.

Clutching a piece of fabric around his hand, he looked angry but startled as well.

"He bit me! That damned animal of a man bit me!" said the guard, waving his arm at her. When Fanara pulled away the cloth from his hand and wiped away blood, the teeth markings on the palm of his hand just below his thumb were indeed man-made. She frowned and turned around to find some linen.

"I told you to be careful when I asked you to bring him some food. He's a very angry man", she said, keeping her voice toneless. A shiver ran down her spine when she regarded the biting mark again.

"Angry doesn't even begin to describe what he is! That man is insane, I tell you, and I'm not going near him again", announced the guard.

"It's going to be safer once the lock for the cage is ready", she said quietly, but that didn't seem to reassure him very much. When Fanara had tied the wound, he went away muttering darkly to himself. She looked after the injured guard as he went... and knew she had only just tended to the first of many injuries the horselord would cause.

* * *

Night was falling as _Wrath of Sea, _the proud ship of Prince Erchirion of Dol Amroth, headed for the port of Pelargir. As he stood by the bow he thought he could smell the storm coming from the sea, but they were making haste and would arrive next morning at the latest. Aragorn had told him to hurry, as the King had not thought it would do too good for Captain Éothain to be constantly on the move when his life still hang on the balance. Elessar was not a man to give up hope just like that, but Erchirion had seen the doubt in his liege-lord's eyes when they had set from the small natural haven at river Harnen's mouth, where he had met with the King. Aragorn would come to Pelargir soon as well, but first he had to speak with Elfhelm. Sea had been restless and the voyage had not gone as fast as hoped, so the ship would arrive two or three days before Aragorn at the best; the man was known for his ability to travel fast great distances when he needed.

"I have done all that I can for Captain Éothain, but these conditions have not proved the best, and his injuries are indeed very grave. A lesser man would surely have died already... perhaps all he needs is just rest now", Aragorn had said quietly. His was the face of a man who had not felt peace in a long time, and Erchirion knew how deeply the man grieved for his fallen friend. The loss of Éomer was a great sorrow to all of them, but mostly the prince feared his sister's reaction. The way she dealt with things sometimes... certainly during the past two years she had grown up a lot, but that had not done anything to quench the fire of her temper. And she loved her king fiercely.

Erchirion sighed and rubbed his forehead. He looked ahead towards the darkening sky. As he stood there, the captain of the ship came to tell him they were making such fast travel that they'd probably arrive earlier than intended. Having received this report he sent the captain on his way and thought about catching a bit of sleep before the morrow.

But first he went the check on Captain Éothain, although by now he had learned that the passage of days brought little change, and he was starting to wonder if the poor man might ever recover. Nevertheless, he knocked briefly on the door before stepping in and entered to see the only man who could shed any light as to the death of the King of Rohan.

Captain Feran had come along to see that the King's second in command was securely transported. The man obviously did not like ships or travelling on sea, but he had never complained once during the journey. He had stayed with Éothain through the voyage and now he was focused on carving some piece of driftwood. As Erchirion entered he looked up and nodded at the prince, who glanced towards the bed.

"Any change?" he asked, as he had every time he had visited the cabin. But like on the previous times, Captain Éothain was out of it.

"None whatsoever", said Feran and shook his head. He too shot a glance towards the injured man, who lay quiet and still. Only the even rise and fall of his chest signalled he was still alive. Aragorn had apparently done all he could to have the man return among the living, but in south there wasn't really much he could do; the King had wondered if some _athelas _could help Éothain, but none was to be found in the southern parts.

Erchirion regarded Éomer's captain silently for a moment, until he looked again at Feran.

"Do you think he saw anything significant?" he asked.

"I can't say. But what could he have seen? There was a body, so most likely is that Captain Éothain witnessed them slaughtering our king. If I should guess, we'll find him a very disturbed man should he ever come around", said the captain. The prince sighed; unpleasant as it was, he couldn't but agree. He hadn't seen to body himself, but Aragorn and Amrothos had, and as far as Erchirion was concerned, he considered his King's word a fact.

"What do you suppose will happen in your land now, Captain? How will your people react to hearing your king is dead?" he asked. The question kept bothering him. He could but guess how this mess could ever be cleared out.

"I'm not sure yet. He was Théoden's heir and loved by our people, but he wasn't the only descendant of Eorl..." Feran said softly, at which Erchirion nodded. He thought of Éowyn and what she and Faramir would decide now. After all, she was of the House of Eorl too, and though she wouldn't probably welcome the crown, she'd consider it her duty. The Captain continued, distracting Erchirion from his thoughts: "We will grieve for our king of course, but we shall endure, like we have always endured."

The prince wasn't sure what to say to that. Personally, he felt the Rohirrim would do much more than just grieve, and truthfully speaking he wondered if Elfhelm and Lord Húrin could keep them from going berserk on everything that even remotely resembled a pirate.

To shake off that slightly unnerving thought he said, "It is very kind of you to come all this way and stay with the captain."

Feran shrugged nonchalantly.

"I was just thinking he'd like a familiar face if he comes around. As I said, if he saw them kill Éomer King then he is probably not going to react well when he understands what has happened. It is widely known that Captain Éothain was good friends with our lord", he said, focusing his eyes on the piece of wood he had been working on.

"Indeed", Erchirion said quietly. Seeing there was nothing he could do he bid then good night to Captain Feran and headed for his own cabin. Tomorrow, they'd arrive in Pelargir and he'd see his sister... and felt dread when wondering how he'd find her.

_Damn you, Éomer. Why did you have to die?_

* * *

The cage was built of wood that probably came from the great jungle far in the east, as trees didn't grow in such abundance on the deserts. Fanara had never travelled that far, though she had sometimes dreamt of it. In Umbar, you might sometimes see people from that part of the world or even beyond.

She didn't know if her brother had been the one to have the cage build or if it had come to him in some other way. Be it as may, so far it had kept wild animals – mostly great beasts like lions. In Umbar there were men who liked to show off their power and wealth by purchasing exotic animals, and Sapat made an occasional business out of it. The men of their tribe were fairly competent hunters, and they'd catch lion cubs or perhaps leopards, and then transport them towards the coast. They rarely went as far as Umbar, but that didn't matter: the merchant caravans were often encountered on the road and they were usually more than happy to buy beasts they could then sell to their own contacts.

Fanara supposed it wasn't so wrong to say it was a lion that would soon be put in that cage again. This lion, however, would know how to open latches, and so the smith of the tribe was busy building a proper lock for the cage. She didn't approve of it but Sapat was not of the mind for listening to her opinions concerning his prisoner. And the feeling of foreboding persisted. Fanara looked at the cage and shivered... and she wondered how many men would have to die for it.

Two days afterwards they were moving forwards. They would not have made for the road quite so quickly if not for the northmen on the coast: Sapat wanted to put some space between the tribe and the horsemen of Rohan who should already know of what had happened to their King. They should of course blame pirates for it and be busy storming the coast, but one could never be cautious enough.

For the wounded this meant transport either on biers or wagons pulled by mules. Those animals didn't grow too large on the deserts but they were strong and well adjusted to the heat and dry conditions. As for the captive king, for now they had tied his hands and the rope was attached to the cage on wagon, as the lock of his prison was not ready yet. For the moment he was complying and walking unforced, but judging by the look on his face Fanara knew he was just biding his time.

And the day proved her right. Around afternoon, when his guards had fallen under the impression he was cooperative, the lion did make his attack. When Fanara arrived to the scene, she found him strangling one of his guards with the spare rope: it was the very same one they had used to tie his hands and attach him to the cage, and he had tossed it in a loop around the man's neck. Only thing he had to do was pull, and by the time they tore him away, the guard was already dead.

* * *

Erchirion had sent a messenger to Father as soon as the ship had arrived to the dock. He was hoping he'd still be at Aunt's house, as had been the plan before the tragedy in the south had taken place. Arriving to the city of Pelargir had presented him with a problem he hadn't thought about during the journey: Captain Éothain needed a place to stay for now, until he was well enough to be moved... or whatever his fate would be. Despite himself, Erchirion was already starting to wonder if the man would recover at all.

When they were unloading the ship, Father did ride to the port with several of his guards. He looked like he had some sleepless nights behind him, which Erchirion could understand. But altogether he was glad Father was in the city. Perhaps he had stayed here for Lothíriel.

"Father! It's good to see you", he called from the deck of the ship, waving at his sire. The Prince of Dol Amroth gave him a tired little smile.

"Welcome back, son. I'm glad you return in one piece", he said and dismounted, then striding towards the ship in haste. The crew, bustling about the dock, instantly made way for him.

When Father had entered the ship and approached his son, he instantly offered his son a tight hug. Though he trusted in all his children and knew they could take care of themselves, he _was _their father, and never really stopped worrying for them.

"Is it very bad?" Erchirion asked under his breath.

"I... to be honest, I'm not sure. The word hasn't spread here yet. And your sister refuses to believe the news", Father answered and pulled back so that he could regard his second-born son. Erchirion conjured a humourless little smile.

"That sounds like her. Did she try to ride away when she heard?" he asked.

"Indeed she tried. The first night, I had guards in the stables watching the horses. She guessed that and tried to buy a horse from the markets, but Faramir got to her before she could make her flight. I'm not sure what he told her but she has stayed put since then", Father said and shook his head.

"I'm just surprised you didn't put her in ropes", Erchirion muttered. Imrahil made a sound that vaguely resembled a chuckle but was too hollow.

"We did consider that, in fact", he said darkly. He tried to rid himself of the frown that seemed to have made a permanent home on his face and attempted for a genuine smile, "Did your journey go well?"

"A storm hindered us somewhat but once we got on the move it was mostly steady travel. Has Aragorn arrived yet?" asked Erchirion.

"No, but his messenger came just this morning – he should be here tomorrow or the day after at the latest. The man does make haste as though he was the wind itself", Father replied. The prince nodded emphatically, as he was very aware of King Elessar's extraordinary abilities.

"Father, did Amrothos tell you that Captain Éothain made it alive?" he asked then, at which the older man nodded.

"Indeed he did. How fares the man? Is he any better?" inquired Father.

"The same as before. He has yet to come around", Erchirion said, suppressing a sigh. "He's on board in fact. Aragorn asked me to bring him here, as he deemed a journey by road might be too heavy for the poor man. Could he perhaps stay in Aunt's house for now?"

"Of course he can. He's a friend, after all. I think Lothíriel would demand it as well", Father said instantly, which made Erchirion smile. His sire was very right in surmising that she'd want it... and Éomer would appreciate it too. The thought of the fallen king dampened his mood, though. But now was not a time for dark thoughts and he shook himself.

"That is good to hear. I'll make sure everything's ready to move him", Erchirion said. Then, speaking in softer tones, he continued, "Let us just hope that waking up alive is what he does want."

* * *

They made camp in a deep valley that also had a small fountain at the end of it. Covered by rocks and some withered bushes one wouldn't know it was there, but places like this were something passed down from father to son, and were crucial if one meant to survive especially in the deep inland. For the tribes of Harad it was common knowledge: this was their world. And the deserts were in the blood of Fanara, as it had been in the blood of her mother and grandmother, all the way to the mists of time when Haradrim had first settled in this place and claimed it as their own.

Fanara was in the middle of settling down with her daughter Nata when she noted the look on the girl's face. Of her three children only Nata had accompanied her here: Fanara's son now lead the tribe of his father, and her second-born daughter had found a companion for life in another friendly tribe.

The young one looked troubled, which wasn't how she usually looked like when they were on the move. Nata was barely paying attention to the fabrics she was arranging, and eventually Fanara put aside the small pots where she kept her fine perfumes she'd sell to merchants, who in turn would pitch them to the wealthy Umbarian ladies. It may be hard to believe but on the deserts there grew some extremely rare plants that could be used to prepare some of the sweetest perfumes imaginable.

"Now, what is it, sweet one?" Fanara asked her daughter and regarded the girl sharply. "What is on your mind?"

Nata glanced at her, looking worried as she did. So Fanara conjured a smile on her face to console her daughter.

"Mother, is it true? The girls are saying that horselord will kill us all, like he killed Motsham and Kafsog", said the girl, fidgeting her hands as she spoke. Fanara sighed and moved closer to Nata.

"My dear, you shouldn't listen to everything that the girls say. The guards are doing a good job, and... Nata, I don't think that man would ever hurt you. You've done nothing to harm him. The only thing you need to do is stay away from him and everything will be all right", she consoled the girl. She could very well see why her daughter was so distressed: the horselord was a fairly scary man, the way he could kill men so easily. There had been no remorse on his face when they had torn him away from Kafsog's body, and Fanara doubted such emotion would ever occur to him in this place, where he was surrounded by enemies.

"Why did Uncle bring him here? Why didn't he kill that man?" Nata asked angrily. Fanara frowned to herself, wondering how to answer that question. In Nata's mind, the northman was an entirely evil thing. But that was because she didn't understand... didn't see how this was all but a tangle of fates and opposing forces, and just as Tanfuksham and Nata's father the King of Rohan had just been doing what he thought had to be done.

"Your uncle thinks this horselord deserves something else than a simple death", Fanara said slowly, reaching to stroke her daughter's hair. "But it doesn't mean he's right about it. And why he killed Kafsog... if you were taken from your home, and your friends were slain and you were made captive, wouldn't you be very angry? Wouldn't you be hurt?"

Nata's brow furrowed as she thought about it.

"It's not the same thing", she argued, at which Fanara raised her eyebrows.

"Why isn't it? Is it because he seems different and doesn't speak our language? He may look so, but in the end we're all the same. We're all the children of this world. And two wrongs will never make one right. Killing people and taking prisoners will not bring back your father, Nata. This man is not guilty of what happened", she said as gently as she could. The girl lowered her eyes and sighed, didn't know what more to say. Fanara patted her shoulder.

"He's but a man. And somewhere out there is a home he'd like to return to – perhaps he has a wife and children there, and they are worrying themselves to death. Remember that, daughter, when you look at him", said the chieftain's sister and turned to attend to their things again, and Nata did the same.

Later that day she saw that scene when she was returning from getting some water from the fountain. Fanara heard the yells first and the sound of them alarmed her. So she hurriedly made her way towards the shouting... only to arrive to a scene of brutality.

The cage was obviously ready now, and they were trying to make the captive king get inside it. Six men there were, all threatening him with their shot battle spears, and poking at him; his hands were still tied, but he was trying to avoid the spearheads. He was moving fast for a man of his size, but on the other hand it didn't seem like he had much choice.

For then, as Fanara got to the scene, the whip lashed, hard and unrelenting across the back of the horselord, and he was forced to leap towards the cage. His face betrayed a look of pain but he did not make a sound. Instead, he bared his teeth to the crowd that was watching this show... and spears were there to usher him, and the whip lashed again and again...

Without hesitation, Fanara fought her way through the spectators and ran to her brother, who was inspecting the scene in cold satisfaction of a cruel man.

"Stop it! You're treating him like an animal!" she exclaimed as she grabbed the arm of her brother. He flashed a freezing glare at her.

"Oh, that is precisely what I want to do, dear sister. This man deserves nothing more", he announced. The whip lashed again and the horselord fell on his knees; the crowd roared with laughter, but she saw his pride and dignity murdered, and in his eyes there was plain, primal fury.

"Then what do you deserve for doing this to him, Sapat?" Fanara snapped angrily. "How are you any better?"

Her brother was angry now and his eyes blazed. He pushed her away from him.

"I did not ask your opinion, Fanara. I don't need it", he informed her coldly. Seeing that angry remarks were not the way for it, she tried to calm down and reach him the other way.

"Sapat, what happened to you? You were never this cruel before. Please, stop this madness", she pleaded, searching his dark eyes.

However, her brother was far too gone.

"Perhaps I have changed, sister", he said darkly. He gestured to two guards who were not participating the inhuman treatment of the northman. "Take my sister away. She obviously doesn't understand this at all."

As they escorted her away, she yelled at him over her shoulder: "You are digging your own grave, Sapat!"

* * *

They had brought Captain Éothain to Aunt's house around midday. Erchirion's ship had arrived at the morrow already of course, but it took a while to get the poor man ready for travel, and moving about injured people didn't happen quite so quickly. Seeing Éothain carried in had brought Lothíriel a feeling of sickness: she remembered him as a strong, vital man nothing could bring down. But now he was there, barely alive.

A man called Captain Feran had stayed with Éothain since they had first found him in the merchant camp, but now towards the end of the day and on Father's insistence the Rohir had retired to a chamber of his own to catch some sleep. Lothíriel, however, was not tired at the slightest. So, when the uproar over the arrival over the injured man ha died out, she had gone to see him in the chamber they had put him in. She had taken little note of her surroundings, and instead she had just sat there beside him, hoping for...

She hoped for a hint – something to lead her from this place of doubt and fear and uncertainty. And if there was anyone now who could help her, it was this poor injured man.

Captain Éothain looked somehow diminished from what she recalled. This man who lay so still on the bed was not at all like the one she remembered striding beside Éomer, and she felt troubled regarding him. He was so pale and his cheeks looked hollow, and everything was so _wrong, _because Éothain was not a man meant for laying half-dead like this. And Éomer wasn't meant to die in such a way.

_But he's not dead, _she reminded herself stubbornly.

Yet if that was true... where was he now, then? Where should she look for him? What should she do?

"Please, wake up. I need your help. I need you to tell me what you saw", she pleaded softly, reaching for Éothain's hand and holding it tight. Tears filled her eyes as she murmured: "Please."

The captain lay silent and she bowed her head, fighting back her tears. _It couldn't end like this. _

She felt so lost, so confused. Her heart told her _he _wasn't gone, and still her head didn't have any idea of what she was supposed to do now. And there was the terrifying possibility she was wrong...

The servant arrived at last, bearing a tray as she came. There was a bowl of steaming hot water and a small bag, which she knew to be filled with _athelas. _Since Aragorn had healed Faramir and Éowyn and Halfling Meriadoc, a word of this plant's qualities had spread, and some had even been stocked in Aunt's house. Lothíriel was now very glad for that.

"Here are the things you requested, Princess", said the servant. Quietly Lothíriel gestured her to lay those things on the table nearby, and after having done so, the maid left the chamber.

The princess got up from her seat and went over to the tray. The bowl she moved next to Éothain and then poured some of the contents of the leather bag on the water. The plant reacted almost instantly and soon fresh, pleasant smell filled her nostrils. She breathed it in and felt like her strength was renewed. That was not the only thing that felt like recovering: her hope rose again, and she looked at Éothain, waiting for something to happen. This was what Erchirion had said, after all. He had mentioned Aragorn had wanted to try if _athelas _could help Éothain. The blessed plant had brought Faramir and Éowyn back from far darker places, after all.

"Elbereth", she whispered, grasping again for the captain's calloused hand, "bring him back. Return him to life."

Perhaps it was moments or hours that rolled by. She didn't know, as she was too busy watching the face of the Rohir and muttering quiet prayers to herself, sometimes in Westron but more often in Sindarin as though that would make her plead heard. And then at last Éothain moved and he muttered something in Rohirric so quietly that she couldn't make out what it was, and she leaned closer.

But then, as she was trying to hear what he was saying, he made an abrupt movement and grabbed her wrist. His eyes were wide and wild and she froze there, momentarily certain he'd attack her even if he had to be very weak.

"Éomer", he rasped. The wild look did not disappear from his eyes.

"What happened to him?" she asked right away. Éothain blinked and looked confused; his gaze wandered about and he took in his surroundings, but then she used her free hand to turn his face back towards her. _She had to know. _

"Is Éomer dead?" she demanded. Her question appeared to sober him, as he went even paler than he already was.

"No. He's not dead", he instantly barked. Hearing that, her heart made a mad back-flip as wild hope filled her again, but she forced herself to concentrate. She could have her outburst later.

"King Elessar said he saw Éomer dead", Lothíriel said, intently searching the face of the captain. He seemed confused and he frowned, and she knew he was trying hard to remember exactly what had happened. Then at last a more clear look appeared on his face as he focused.

"I don't know what your king saw, or thought he did. It's not true. Éomer is not dead. I saw him! I saw them strip off his armour, put him in ropes. He fought until the end, I tell you. They dragged him away and _he was alive", _Éothain insisted. In his eyes, there was now a desperate light burning. But then it turned dark and regretful, and his voice was barely a whisper, "They took my king and I could only watch. I couldn't rise up and help him..."

"It's all right, Éothain. What happened is not your fault", she told him.

"I'm his captain!" he scowled angrily, though she could see that anger was not directed at her. "If my King is harmed it _is _my fault."

"But it wasn't. There were pirates, and apparently there were too many of them. His men fought valiantly but sometimes even that is not enough", she tried, trying to ease his horrible self-hatred.

Again he grabbed at her, pulling her close.

"It wasn't pirates. I heard them. It was a Haradrim tribe that took him. _I saw. _They want us to think pirates killed him, but it's not true. He's alive, he's out there. Some bastard has him as a prisoner!" Éothain ranted. He tried to rise up but Lothíriel gently pushed him down.

"It's all right. You have to rest – you have only just come around", she told him firmly, but hopefully he'd see that she only meant his best.

"No! No, I can't just lay here when he's in danger. I must go, I must find him -" he tried, but determinedly she forced him back down.

"I hear you. He will be found. I promise", she reassured him, her voice gentle but resolute. There was something about her voice that seemed to convince him, and he fell down.

"You swear this to me? You swear my King will return alive?" asked Éothain, his blue eyes seeking hers fervently.

"I do swear so, Captain Éothain. He is my king too", Lothíriel answered. Her voice rang stark and headstrong, and perhaps there was something to it that consoled him, as the captain's expression turned calm eventually. He relaxed on his bed and let out a sigh. Then he closed his eyes and slept, and Lothíriel sat there for some time more, and as she did, a feeling of resolution grew in her heart.

And she knew what she needed to do.

* * *

When Captain Éothain came around again, it wasn't Princess Lothíriel who sat beside him. Gone was her face, fierce in her determination, and replaced with the assessing look of Captain Feran.

"So, it's true then. You're indeed healing", said the man, watching sharply the injured man.

"Looks like it", Éothain uttered hoarsely. Why should Captain Feran be here? He barely knew the man beyond the matters of war-waging. He cast a look around and deemed by his surroundings he must be in Gondor. That they had brought him this far and he had not known any of it could only mean some serious injuries. He felt weak indeed and though that was a hateful thing he had to admit there was no way he could have gone to find his King now.

He tried to reach for a cup of water beside his bed, but suddenly Captain Feran moved and pinned down his arm, and moved closer.

"What did you see, Éothain?" he asked sharply. "What happened on that battle-field?"

Something was wrong. Éothain had been a warrior and Éomer's second in command far too long for the danger to go unnoticed by him and he searched the face of man before him, trying to understand what was his motivation.

"I saw battle", he said quietly, unsure of how much he should reveal. The conversation with the Princess had already confirmed one thing: they thought the King of Rohan was dead. He wasn't sure what was the basis of that belief, but they must have found something convincing enough... and as his mind raced, he understood he and Princess Lothíriel were the only two people who knew it wasn't true. And as he looked at Feran, he didn't feel like the news that Éomer was alive would not come as a pleasant surprise – not to this man at the very least.

"And the King? Did he die?" asked Feran, trying to hide the urgent tone of his voice. Éothain was good enough judge to see this was not because the captain was desperately concerned for Éomer's life. _No... _there was something more behind this.

"I..." started the King's Captain, but as he hesitated, Feran suddenly pressed the hard, calloused palm of his hand against Éothain's windpipe.

"He survived, didn't he? They didn't kill him. I can see that in your eyes! It wasn't about taking his life, was it? They wanted him alive, and they got him", Feran snarled and pulled back his hand enough to let the other man gasp for air.

"They didn't kill him", Éothain uttered hoarsely. "Where is Aragorn? He must know – I have to tell him-"

"_No", _Feran said, his voice terrible and final. "No one will know."

"What?! Of course everyone must know! We must gather our forces! We have to go and-" Éothain tried, but again Feran added pressure on his neck, and his voice died as he fought for air. But he was too weak.

"I said no one will know!" snapped the traitorous man, glaring at the injured captain with a crazed glint in his eyes. "It is high time new winds started blowing in the Mark. Another line of Eorl's descendants will rise, and Éomund's children will be forgotten."

"You traitor! You have no right!" Éothain gasped. "Éomer is your king and you are bound by oath and honour to defend him!"

As soon as those words were out his mouth, Feran moved. The small blade appeared as though from nowhere and the deadly sharp point of it was pressed against the tender skin under his eye. Éothain froze unmoving.

"I am of the blood of Folca, who sired Folcwine. I have every right", Feran snarled. "And someone ought to renew the seat of Eorl. Someone ought to end the unnatural friendship with Gondor. Don't you see, Éothain? They keep bringing those southerners to our land, and even plant them on our very throne! That precious king of yours would take that Gondorian wench to wife and spoil the blood of Eorl, just like Thengel did! It will end now."

"Rohan will never follow you, Feran. As long as Éomer lives, he _is _the King, and the Mark will know that as well! When Eorlingas hear of this, they will scorn you, and they will rain fire and death on Harad until our King is found!" Éothain argued. But Feran slapped him and pressed the blade of his weapon against his throat.

"The only thing the Mark will know is that Théoden's heir is dead. That is all", he growled, his face only inches away from Éothain's. "You're married, aren't you? I seem to recall her name is Scýne. She's a very lovely woman for a man like yourself. And she was expecting your second child when you left for war? How do you think they would receive the news of your death?"

"Feran, you can't -" Éothain started, feeling horror suddenly grow in his heart. But the man before him only smiled.

"Or what if you were spared, but they died? They say orcs still roam in our lands. You know how they are – they kill men and women alike and they have no mercy for children. It would be such a pity if anything should happen to your family, especially now that you can't even protect them..." he spoke, his voice turning very soft and even gentle. Perhaps it was that tone that made it so horrifying.

"Please, don't hurt my family – they haven't done anything", he pleaded, and his heart twisted and turned before this impossible choice. Should he choose between his king and his family?

"Of course they haven't. It's only a very small thing I ask of you, Éothain. You only need to keep silent", Feran said, his smile widening as he saw how tightly he had the injured man under his thumb. He asked: "What will it be, Éothain?"

The King's Captain hesitated, trying to see through this terrible scene, and what was the right thing to do.

But then... then he thought of Lothíriel, and he knew he didn't have to make this choice. _She knows the truth. _

And he remembered that first time he had seen her, how she had charged from the shadows of the evening; how her bow had sung and orcs fallen by her arrows, and she had shrieked at Éomer for she was intimidated by no man. She had ridden fell and fearless and Éothain remembered all the times she had seen what strong will and spirit she possessed. Éomer himself had called her the Lioness, and the captain had deemed that name was entirely deserved.

Most importantly, he remembered how fiercely she loved Éomer.

_She knows the truth, _he thought again, and then Éothain knew what she'd do.

And he... he decided he would trust her.

He fell back on the mattress and what little strength he had left him. Perhaps he'd hate himself for this, for being too weak to fight for his king... but maybe he had already done all that Éomer needed him to do.

So he sighed and let out the defeated whisper: "All right. I surrender."

* * *

Éowyn was sat at the window, staring out in a way that could only be called dejected. She had taken the news very heavily and was deeply grieving her brother, and Lothíriel knew Faramir was very worried for her. It was no wonder: the White Lady had watched all of her family and kin die, and now it even looked like Éomer too was gone. Having to bear that pain time and again would wound anyone badly.

But now Lothíriel hoped perhaps she had just the thing to help her friend.

When she entered the chamber and knocked at the door, Éowyn briefly glanced at her. The older woman attempted to smile but it turned into a grimace.

"How do you feel?" asked Lothíriel softly.

"I'm surviving", Éowyn said quietly and sighed. She looked out to the courtyard and tonelessly muttered, "Aragorn is expected to arrive soon now. Faramir rode out to receive him... I think he's hoping to hear something more. It seems to me your determination has started to affect him – he has started to doubt whether it was really Éomer Amrothos and Aragorn found in that tomb."

"It wasn't, Éowyn. It wasn't your brother they saw. Maybe that dead man wore Éomer's armour, but _it wasn't him", _said the princess heatedly. The older woman glanced at her doubtfully.

"How would you know?" she asked.

"Think about it, Éowyn! They say there was no head – just a body in an armour. You could take any man roughly Éomer's size, put on that armour on him, and take off his head. No one would know for the better. If that merchant caravan had not happened on the scene of battle, I'm sure they would have found only nineteen men, not twenty. That's because Éomer never lay dead in that valley", Lothíriel said, leaning closer towards Éowyn. She took her friend's hands in her own and mad joy made her heart race. _It had to be true. _

"I've spoken with Éothain. He was awake and he told me Éomer lives. He saw him dragged away from the battle-field _alive. _And he says it wasn't pirates but tribesmen of Harad. I don't know why, but they took Éomer captive – they obviously wanted him alive. And I'm sure he's still living!" she spoke quickly.

Éowyn stared at her in silence. The Princess of Ithilien didn't seem to know what to say or think, and a multitude of emotions crossed her face. Doubt and hope and uncertainty mixed there, and she frowned.

"But why? Why would anyone go through such effort just to capture my brother?" she asked.

"I don't know. The only thing I do know for sure that he is still out there and he needs help", Lothíriel said. Then, seeing the look on the face of her friend, she went on, "And even if Éothain was mistaken... I can't just be content with this – I can't count on what others have witnessed, not when it is about _him_. I need to see for myself. Otherwise I'll never have any peace as long as I live. And if Éomer is alive..."

The White Lady understood, even though Lothíriel did not finish that sentence. And looking at her expression, the princess knew she shared the sentiment. The doubtful look dissolved then and in the grey eyes of Éomund's daughter some hope was reborn.

Slowly, a smile dawned on Éowyn's face. It was not a light expression; instead, it was terrifying in its fierce determination... and Lothíriel knew it was identical to her own. Had someone seen the two of them now it would probably have looked like they were planning something terrible. Perhaps it _was _terrible. And seeing the face of the woman before her, she understood that the exact same thing had occurred to them both.

That moment, the two women were in complete, perfect agreement. Lothíriel's smile widened.

"We are going to take him back."

* * *

**A/N: ***dramatic music* And the plot thickens! There's a lot going on in this chapter, and hopefully I've remembered to weave in all threads I need for this story.

This chapter has the reason I had to spend some time establishing the relationship between Éowyn and Lothíriel. That they would come to this resolution requires a friendship between them, and for Lothíriel to trust Éowyn enough to know they would both think like this. In case you're wondering why Lothíriel doesn't go to her father or anyone else, I fear I can't answer it right away - it'll hopefully be explained in the next chapter.

I'm not sure what you guys think of Éothain's actions in this chapter, and the fact that he lets Feran blackmail him. Well, we should remember he's just recovering from serious injury and he's not very well at the moment. Not to mention he has gone through a pretty traumatic experience. He has decided to trust in Lothíriel to act now and make undone Feran's scheming.

A word on history: Folca was the King of Rohan, and he was the father of Folcwine, who in turn was father to Fengel and grandfather to Thengel. Feran (who is of course an original character of mine) is the grandson of Folca and does indeed trace his ancestry back to Eorl through his maternal line, but his claim to the throne is in truth pretty shaky, and I doubt he'd be considered a member of the House of Eorl proper. However, he's the classic case of seizing one's chance when an opportunity presents itself, regardless the consequences. Obviously there's the matter of Éowyn and at this point everyone is probably thinking that she should be the one to succeed Éomer... but we'll see how that goes, if Éowyn indeed does decide to accompany Lothíriel. In case you don't remember, Feran was first discussed in chapter 4 when Éomer asked Elfhelm what he made of Feran, and I tried to foreshadow there this development.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Hope you continue to enjoy this story!

* * *

Quote in the beginning originally by Anne Lamott.

Inspiration for the chapter: Hans Zimmer - Rise

* * *

**Kiiimberly - **Oh, she definitely keeps on holding on to hope! She's not someone to lose their way just so easily.

**wondereye - **I see. Thanks for explaining, I was very confused and thinking I had accidentally revealed something essential!

**Talia119 - **Good to hear you liked the chapter! I'm actually curious now: what did you expect the last chapter to be? As for Éomer staying tough, I believe that's what he'd do. He indeed is very angry for having to watch his friends killed, and I don't think he's someone who would react very well to being captive. He really doesn't want to give Sapat the satisfaction of seeing him broken.

This is probably what you expected Lothíriel would do, but hopefully you like it anyway!


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